


House of Vials

by bullvalene



Series: Harry and Gawain [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auror Ron Weasley, BAMF Hermione Granger, Healer Harry, M/M, Powerful Harry Potter, Protective Ron Weasley, Smart Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bullvalene/pseuds/bullvalene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the war, Harry's just trying to get a grip on his life, Ron's trying to keep the people he loves safe, and Hermione has decided she's done taking anyone's shit.  As Harry's past comes back to haunt him, he and Hermione begin to question the carefully ordered post-war society -- and then it all comes crashing down. </p><p>***</p><p>Hermione wasn’t sure whether to laugh or plead her case. She decided on the latter. “Ron tells me you’re quite talented, Auror Malfoy.” They stared at each other. Hermione tried to smile at him, but it proved to be too difficult.  </p><p>“You’d best rejoin the party, Ms. Granger. People might think you’re… up to something.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ravenclaws were, in Draco’s opinion, the house that should have the worst reputation. They may be smart, but in his experience they completely lacked any sense of compassion. Slytherins may be cunning and whatnot, but at least they cared for (usually a very small hand-full of) people. Ravenclaws loved numbers and facts. They were cold, heartless bastards the lot of them. 

But that didn’t mean Draco couldn’t handle himself around them. Oh, no, he would have been just fine thank you very much without the interference of Our Lord and Savior Harry Potter. As it were, Draco had found himself with his back to the wall outside the Great Hall that morning with a group of six Ravenclaws when Harry Potter had came out of the Great Hall. 

Potter had strode over the group with a genuine fucking smile on his face, walked straight into the circle of Ravenclaws, said hello to Terry Boot, and then insisted that Malfoy walk him to Potions. And so now Draco was walking through the halls of Hogwarts with Harry Fucking Potter’s arm around his shoulders while the freak rambled on and on about some trip he had taken this past summer with Granger to Australia to visit a rock or some such nonsense.

“Malfoy, you’re hardly even listening,” Potter whined. 

“Wait, what?” Draco asked. Potter sighed and looked oddly put out. Draco felt a pang deep in his stomach. “Ah, I was just thinking, er, would you work with me today in Potions?” 

Potter’s answering smile was beautiful. “Let’s hurry then. There’s only one really good set of knives, you know, and it would be wasted on Ron and Neville.” 

“Potter,” Draco called as the other boy took off down the hallway. “Forgive the blunt nature of my question, but have you finally lost your mind?”

Potter laughed. Draco was sure it had literally been years since he had last heard Potter laugh and it startled him. “Most likely. Now come on then, let’s go!” It wasn’t just that Draco hadn’t heard Potter laugh, it was that he hadn’t even heard Potter even speak until yesterday in Transfiguration. 

They’d just started reviewing for NEWTs and had been going over a rather simple transfiguration of a goblet into a parakeet. The task was easily completed by most students, and there had been quite a bit of chatter in the room. Potter had turned his goblet into a parakeet and back again with two snaps of his fingers, sat down, and started turning listlessly through his transfiguration textbook. 

Most lessons this year had gone the same way. Without a word, Potter would complete the task at hand and then zone out for the rest of class. Potter was basically a shell of a person and it frightened Draco. It frightened him because he felt an almost obligation to speak with Potter about this. Of course, he never did, but he had imagined the conversation many times. 

Potter would initiate (it was a fantasy, after all). He’d demand to know why Draco hadn’t identified Weasley when the three of them had been… guests… briefly at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix had wanted a reason to hunt the Weasley family, and so when the snatchers had dragged in Potter and Granger and a very swollen Ronald Weasley, Draco had been asked if it were indeed the traitorous fool. And he hadn’t answered. Potter would want to know why. Draco would tell him the truth: that he did it for Harry, because he saw the fear in his eyes when he looked up at Draco. 

Potter would insist that he wasn’t afraid. That’s what Gryffindors do, right? And Draco would say that he should have been. Because they both knew what came next. Bellatrix found the sword and demanded that she and Potter have a little talk, Black to Black. Draco had watched as his aunt had tortured Potter for a long time. Draco didn’t know how long. He had found that time moved in funny ways when he was watching something so horrible. He had to watch, but he couldn’t process what he was seeing. So it took simultaneously forever and not any time at all, but it was definitely long enough that Potter was very still at the end. And Draco knew what that meant. 

Draco would tell Potter he still dreamed about it. Potter would say he did, too. They would share a look, conveying that in lives of a multitude of terrible things, they had shared this one thing that was terribly defining. 

And that would be enough for Draco. The acknowledgement that he had been there. That he had borne witness. 

Draco had worked the conversation over in his head so many times that sometimes it felt real. He wondered if Potter ever imagined a similar conversation. If he could just catch Potter’s eye across the room and he would know. But this was real life. And Potter didn’t catch anyone’s eye anymore. 

And so as Potter had flipped through his textbook, Weasley had started talking loudly to Finnegan about Potions the day before. Weasley and Longbottom were the worst potion partners and it shouldn’t be allowed. But it was amusing... when it wasn’t dangerous. Yesterday they had blown up a cauldron and Slughorn had barely reacted. Draco was sure by this point he fully expected such nonsense in his classroom. 

“But can you imagine if it’d been Snape?” Weasley was saying. “Greasy git was always lurking over poor Neville’s cauldron, probably would have gotten a face full of the stuff!”

“Don’t you dare speak ill of him!” Draco was surprised to find himself out of his seat with his wand out. 

“What are y--” Weasley laughed at him. McGonagall looked like she was about to interrupt them, but Potter beat her to it. 

“Ron!” Potter admonished loudly. The room was suddenly dead silent. Everyone stared at Potter and Potter stared at Weasley. “Ron, apologize to Malfoy.”

“Sorry, Malfoy,” Weasley muttered, sounding confused. 

“I’m serious, Ron. Apologize properly. What did you do wrong?”

“I upset Malfoy?”

“No, that’s what happened because of what you did. What did you do?”

“I made a joke about Snape.”

“Yes. And why was this wrong?”

“Because… he’s dead?”

“... Sure. We’ll go with that. And what will you do differently in the future?”

“I won’t make jokes about dead people,” Ron finally seemed confident in his answer. 

“Now, string it all together and ask Malfoy to accept your apology.”

“Er, alright, uh, Malfoy, I am sorry that I told a joke about Snape. He is dead. I won’t make jokes about dead people any more. Okay?” Weasley directed this last bit to Potter, but Potter was looking expectantly at Draco. 

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” Malfoy managed. 

“Excellent,” Weasley muttered and took his seat. 

Draco couldn’t help but smirk, but that was short lived. “Your turn, Malfoy.” 

“Pardon?”

“Apologize to Ron.”

“For what?”

“Everyone grieves in their own way, Malfoy. You have no right to judge the way Ron chooses to remember Professor Snape. And --” he continued forcefully when it looked as though Malfoy might interrupt -- “you should have been more respectful when expressing your displeasure.”

That Draco could agree with, at the very least. “Weasley, er, sorry I snapped at you like that. It was wrong because… you’re grieving in your own way? And I’ll try to be more considerate in the future. Okay?”

“Whatever,” Weasley grunted. And then grunted again when Granger elbowed him in the ribs. “I mean, yeah. Okay.” Seemingly satisfied, Potter turned back to his textbook. It was the first time Draco had heard him speak since the end of the War, and judging by the stunned looks, he wasn’t the only one. 

And now Draco was sat across from Potter in Potions, watching him hum to himself as he stirred their potion. “Malfoy, could you gather the ingredients for the next step? We should be ready to move on soon.”

“It’s just that… I don’t understand.”

Potter looked comically concerned. “Do you want to stir while I get the ingredients?”

“No, no, I mean, I don’t understand you.”

“I asked if you could get the ingredients.”

“Yes,” Malfoy mused. 

“Why is this so hard for you right now?”

“It’s not about that.”

“Malfoy, fetch the damn ingredients."

***

Malfoy still made Harry anxious, but then again, everything made Harry anxious to a certain degree. But it was all so much easier to deal with now. Although Malfoy seemed to think he’d finally lost the plot, Harry felt sane for the first time in his life. 

It wasn’t that he’d “finally snapped out of it,” as Ron had commented yesterday at dinner. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry’d exclaimed, just as Hermione had smacked Ron hard across the chest. 

“Seriously, Ron?” she all but shrieked. 

With a bit too much glee, Ron tested out his new skill. “Harry, sorry mate. That was a damn stupid thing to say. Obviously that’s not how it works and in the future I’ll be more supportive. Okay?” 

So it wasn’t that he’d finally snapped out of it, because that’s obviously not how it works, but for the first time since the War ended Harry actually felt like he could see the other side of this. That one day his life might be okay again. 

After his outburst in Transfiguration, he’d stayed behind (partially to skip Herbology and partially because he finally felt this bursting urge to tell someone and McGonagall looked at him a little more softly than she usually did). And Hermione was right. Well, she was always right, but she’d been especially right about this. Talking about it had made him feel better. Less crazy. Less alone. 

Sitting at dinner, laughing with Ron and Hermione, he decided he should tell them, too. Or maybe just Hermione. He knew exactly how she’d react. She’d say, “Oh, Harry” and then pull him into her arms. That’s what he wanted: to cry into the arms of someone who knew. Talking to Ron about anything -- and this especially -- would just be harder. But Harry also knew the relief of telling Ron would be far greater than that of telling Hermione. 

The impending relief finally outweighed the horror and the guilt he felt at talking to Ron and Hermione. “After dinner, do you wanna go walk around the lake?” Harry asked, somewhat shyly. 

“Sure, mate,” Ron nodded enthusiastically. “I want to head down to the pitch, too. See how muddy it is.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry conceded, avoiding Hermione’s eyes. She looked terrified and exhilarated at the same time. It was a wild look on her, and Harry knew that she knew that something was about to happen. Ron had no idea, which suited Harry just fine. He had relied on Ron’s less-than-stellar observational skills to make it through this year without being locked in St. Mungo’s Mental Ward. Of course, Ron was also grieving, and sometimes Harry felt a little sick that he hadn’t been able to be there for Ron when he needed Harry the most. 

“You seem like you’re in a much better mood, Harry,” Hermione edged after they’d made it to the other side of the lake in relative silence. Ron had cottoned on rather quickly and was trailing behind the two, looking up at the sky as he walked. 

“Yes,” Harry answered her, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ve made a decision that I think I’ll be very happy with.”

“Decided to join the Aurors, mate?” Ron asked.

“Actually, I told Kingsley no, but this isn’t about that.” 

Ron looked as though he might say something, but Hermione silenced him with a look that would have made a Basilisk proud. “And what have you decided, Harry?” she whispered. 

“I’ve decided to tell you something,” Harry also whispered. Why were they whispering? Hermione looked at him expectantly, returning his reassuring smile from before. Ron nodded eagerly and clasped his hands behind his back, bracing himself. They stood in silence. “Er, just give me a minute. It’s hard to know where to start.”

“Start wherever you like. Just say something, Harry. We both know whatever this is has been eating you alive for ages.”

“Yeah, mate, just spit it out,” Ron agreed.

And now here he was. Why was this so hard? Harry felt like his entire insides had curled up into a small ball and frozen inside of him. He felt nauseous and like he wanted to start running. His mind was oddly clear and no words came to him. He let out the breath he’d been holding and took in another, intending to use it to speak. He let that breath out, too. Goddamnit. He turned his back to Ron and Hermione, maybe this would be easier if he just pretended they weren’t there. But he needed to see how they reacted. He turned back around, opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

“Harry,” Hermione soothed as she slowly moved towards him, as though afraid he might bolt. “After all we’ve been through together, there’s nothing you can’t tell us. You know that.” 

Harry nodded vigorously, unable to look her in the eye. Still, he said nothing. 

“Okay, I’ll start guessing then,” Ron said, turning his eyes to the sky as though the answer were written there. Then he turned his gaze back to Harry, giving him his most calculating stare. “Voldemort’s not really dead and we have to go find more horcruxes.”

Hermione, caught up in the energy of moment, gasped loudly and stared at Harry, her face a mask of horror. Harry couldn’t help but grin, it was not often that Hermione fell for something so ridiculous. “Of course not,” he scoffed. 

“No, of course not,” she echoed, sounding breathless. She turned slowly to face Ron, horror changing to murderous rage on her face. 

“But it is about horcruxes, kind of,” Harry added hastily, hoping to spare Ron from certain death. 

“Look, mate, anything that happened in the fucking tent is water under the bridge, right?”

“It’s not about that. I know I haven’t really been… around much this year.”

“Well, after everything you’d been through --”

“Ron, stop interrupting!” Hermione shrieked. 

“You stop interrupting!” Ron shot back. Harry half expected Hermione to stick her tongue out at Ron. 

“Ever since the horcrux in me died, I’ve felt different. In a really good way. And I’m sorry you had to spend seven years in close proximity to me when I was a horcrux. I just remember what it was like to have to wear that locket and that’s what I subjected you both to for years. I was always… not that it excuses the way that I acted, but I finally feel like I’m my real self for the first time I can remember. I don’t know how you put up with me for so long, and I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend to you both this year. 

You’re right, Ron, we did go through a lot and I should have been there for both of you and I wasn’t. I separated myself because I was scared about how I was feeling… it was like I’d been looking at the world from far away or underwater my whole life and I could finally think clearly and my emotions were my own and I felt so guilty that I felt genuine happiness for the first time in my life and there was so much to be sad about. And I am sad, just not constantly anymore. And I do have nightmares, but not every night and I know the difference between dreams and reality. And I have no idea how to be a functional human being because I have no idea who I am.” Harry said all this in a halting rush and when he finally had to pause for breath, he just didn’t have the strength to continue. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said again, and then she burst into tears. Harry and Ron eyed her edgily. Harry hadn’t exactly planned on his having to comfort Hermione in this moment, and honestly he just didn’t have the energy. Ron didn’t seem to either. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry gasped as feelings of guilt overwhelmed him. “I had to tell you. I had to. I just felt… crazy. Like it was all in my head. And maybe it is. But maybe it’s real anyway. And just -- tell me I’m not crazy,” he pleaded. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione repeated. Harry wondered if he’d finally broken her. “You’re not crazy,” she struggled to add through her tears. 

It was Ron who finally stepped forward and embraced Harry. “You told me I’m not allowed to apologize for the way I feel, so that goes for you too, okay? And Merlin, Harry, your presence in my life has never been a fucking burden, so knock it off. I’m really happy for you, that you’re feeling better, and I think you should just embrace it.” 

“Okay,” and then Harry was sobbing into Ron’s chest. 

Having spent quite a bit of time last night finally crying, Harry felt significantly better this morning. Malfoy thought he was crazy, but then, Malfoy didn’t really know Harry. And also, maybe Harry was crazy. Harry threw his head back and laughed at the peeved look on Malfoy’s face. 

“I will not have you ordering me around like a house elf, Potter!” Malfoy spluttered. Harry just laughed harder. 

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” Slughorn called from where he was keeping a close eye on Ron and Neville’s cauldron. 

“Potter’s completely lost his mind!” Malfoy shouted. “He’s finally started talking, but all that comes out of his mouth are the ramblings of a deranged lunatic!” Merlin, Harry hadn’t laughed so hard since forever. “I will not stand for it!” 

“I think Malfoy’s the one who’s lost it, if you ask me,” Ron chimed in helpfully.

“Well, do pull yourself together, Potter,” Slughorn said mildly, turning back to correct Neville’s technique.

Not really angry, but pretending to be gravely insulted for lack of knowing how he was really feeling, Draco stormed out of Potions as soon as it was over. Potter didn’t follow him. 

***

When Harry entered Healer Training in the fall, he instantly decided that he’d made the wrong choice. While he was used to whispers and staring, he wasn’t used to being hated for his academic success. The scores of the initial aptitude tests had been posted along with everyone’s assignments for the first rotation and all the tentative new friends Harry had made in the first week were gone. 

Ravenclaws didn’t like surprises. They had sussed out what they thought would be the natural order of things almost instantly, falling into patterns they’d held for years with former housemates. Out of the whole class Harry, Justin Finch-Fletchely, and Hannah Abbott were the only non-Ravenclaws, and they had largely been discounted by their new classmates. So when Harry’s name topped the list and he was given a placement in Trauma and Emergencies, the Ravenclaws were surprised and they were not pleased. 

After they were dismissed for the day, Harry sulked his way over to George’s shop, where he and Ginny were stocking shelves. “I want my old job back,” Harry had begun, before whining his way through the story of his week. 

“Oh, but Harry, since when have you ever cared what people thought of you?” Ginny asked when he finished.

“Since always!” Harry spluttered. 

“Well, to be fair, this can’t be the worst thing a group of people have ever thought about you,” George added unhelpfully. 

“That’s true,” Harry sighed. 

“Anyway, I’m not hiring you back,” George continued. “You wanted to be a Healer, you can’t let something this petty scare you off.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Yes, you are! You’re scared to move on with your life and it’s pathetic!” George wrenched the now empty box off the counter and pulled it noisily behind him into the back of the shop. 

“We’re all scared to move on,” Ginny whispered into the silence that followed. 

“I mean, I just… I never really thought I’d be here, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“I didn’t think I was gonna live, Ginny, not really. I never planned for any of this. I have no idea what to do with myself. I feel like I’ve fulfilled the only purpose I ever had.”

“You’ll be a good Healer, Harry.”

“I’d be good at a lot of things. It’s not a lack of talent that’s holding me back.”

“Well--”

“You know what it really is? I always knew that if I somehow managed to survive, I’d have a hell of a time picking up the pieces of whatever the fuck was left of my life, but I feel like I’m missing pieces, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Ginny looked like she might cry, so Harry didn’t explain it to her. 

“I’ll see you around,” Harry sighed again, jumping off the counter and heading for the door. 

***

Terry Boot had spoken to Harry a handful of times in all their years together at Hogwarts. Apart from a partner essay in Charms Eighth Year, Harry didn’t think Terry had ever had an actual conversation of substance with him. So it was a surprise when Terry came up behind him the hallway at the hospital the next day and slapped Harry on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll be fucking damned!” he shouted right in Harry’s ear by way of greeting. 

“Most people usually say ‘good morning,’” Harry muttered, leaning away from Terry’s too-warm hand. Loud noises, especially shouting, people coming up behind him, and people touching him were all on Harry’s list of Least Favorite Things. Terry noticed and removed his hand, taking a step back to exit Harry’s personal space. 

“Good morning,” Terry tried again, making sure not to move any closer to Harry. But he followed Harry into their first class and sat down right next to him. The rest of the trainees flowed in, ignoring Harry and staring incredulously at Terry. The two Hufflepuffs purposefully said ‘hello’ to Harry before taking the seats behind them. “So…” Terry mused over the sounds of their classmates taking their seats. “Is this our new study group?” he turned in his seat to address Harry, Justin, and Hannah. 

“Er…” Justin and Hannah shared a look with each other. They hadn’t been at the top of the rankings like Harry and Terry, but they knew they were definitely the hardest workers out of the class. 

Harry found it best to tap into his more Slytherin tendencies when interacting with Ravenclaws. “Why do you want to work with us?” he countered. 

“We all scored best on different portions,” Terry responded. “And, also, no one else will talk to us. Win-win!”

“I don’t think that’s what a ‘win-win’ is,” Hannah said.

“Also, they’d all talk to you if you didn’t talk to us,” Justin added. 

“They’ll calm down eventually,” Terry shrugged. “So… is this our new study group?” 

***

It was their new study group. 

Terry proved most useful by clueing the others into the true nature of their classmates. Justin, Hannah, and Harry assumed that everyone was working their hardest and trying their best, but Terry quickly assured them that this was not the case. Of course, Ravenclaws could be dedicated to academic work to the point of fault, but they were also working to make sure their classmates could not find the same level of dedication. Pages went missing from books. Class notes were charmed into gibberish. Shift schedules were removed from their posting place and hidden. 

Good thing Hufflepuffs are such good finders. 

Overtime, their classmates did calm down. Harry had to grudgingly admit to George that he was glad he had stuck it out. Being a Healer was clearly a better choice than Auror training. Ron was consistently frustrated by classmates -- and instructors -- who thought that The Ronald Weasley walked on water. 

“It’s bloody annoying! I’m not being properly trained!” 

Hermione, extremely concerned that Ron was not receiving a proper education, nodded slowly, a deep frown on her face. “You know, I have a couple of books on advanced --”

“I’m sure that’s really hard, Ron,” Harry cut her off. 

They’d had the same conversation over many times now, and Harry couldn’t help but appreciate that Ravenclaws as a rule seemed to care not at all who he was. In truth, they cared about results and very little else. Harry finally felt he was being recognized for his skills, unlike poor Ron. 

Hermione was training to become a Keeper of Knowledge. “She’ll finally know everything. She’ll be insufferable,” Ron had told Harry when he’d asked what exactly that was. From what he had gathered, Hermione’s job did indeed involve a lot of reading and organizing information. 

“So, mate, what’s the grossest thing you say today?” Ron asked, hoping for a good laugh. 

“Ugh, boys, no, I don’t want to hear about it,” Hermione scrunched up her nose. “Harry, who are you bringing to our Christmas party?” 

“Erm… I didn’t realize I was supposed to bring someone?”

“Well, you are,” Hermione snapped and pretended to peruse her menu.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to bring anyone.”

“I think it would be nice for Harry to bring someone.”

“Today I pulled a five inch-long slug out of a bloke’s nose.”

“Well done, mate!”

“I’m done talking to the both of you,” Hermione sniffed and held her menu a little higher, blocking them from view. 

“Look, Hermione…” Harry began. “I know you’re just trying to be supportive, but you’re being a little aggressive about it.”

“Okay, okay, I can back off it. But Harry, I just want you to be happy and --”

“I know, Mione.”

“-- I don’t want you to think you shouldn’t bring someone because --”

“I know, Mione.”

“ -- Ron or I wouldn’t approve of it or some such --”

“I know, Mione.”

“-- drivel. You can get these ideas into your head sometimes and --”

“He knows, Mione!”

“-- I just really, really, think that you should bring someone.”

“Well, there’s no one I want to bring.”

“You sure? Terry Boot has a crush on you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Being a Healer wasn’t as glamorous as Harry had thought it would be. He exited the operating theater soaked in blood and pointed at a snivelling woman. “Are you her mother?”

“Y-y-ye-yes,” the woman choked out.

“Great. You can see her now.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yep, she’s fine. ROMILDA, get her discharge papers.”

“She can go home?”

“Yes, in fact, the sooner the better. We need the bed. ROMILDA!”

“I could just fetch her for you, sir, as they do in the civilized world,” the Head Mediwitch glared at him from her station, unimpressed. 

“Would you? Thanks,” Harry muttered distractedly, reaching back to undo the tie of his filthy gown. 

Romilda walked up behind Harry, hit him with a medical-grade cleaning charm, and glared over her shoulder as she walked into the patient’s room with the papers.

“I don’t think those charms are meant to be used on people,” Harry chastised her, rubbing his now raw and itchy skin delicately. 

“Nope. For use on medical equipement only,” Romilda grinned before disappearing into the room.

“Sweetheart, I know you’ve been here for almost 40 hours now, but you need to act like a human,” the Head Mediwitch looked at him almost kindly over the top of her own charts. 

“I’m not not trying,” Harry whined. “I’m just so tired.”

“We’re all tired, love.”

“Are you even allowed to do operations at this point?” Romilda asked, reemerging from the room.

“No?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Yes,” the Head Mediwitch commented. “The limit is 48 hours straight.”

“That’s barbaric!” 

“I don’t make the rules, Hon.”

“I’ll be lucky to not kill anyone!”

“Maybe don’t shout that near the patients…” Romilda said, trying to herd Harry back down the hall.

“No, they have a right to know how long I’ve been here!” Harry yelled even as he let himself be led away. “Wait, how long have you been here? Romilda, you should go. It’s okay,” Harry told her.

“I went home at the end of my shift. Then I came back for my next one.”

“... It’s the next day?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh god… I think I called Nancy ‘Romilda’ all night.”

“Yeah, well. Where’s Boot?”

“It’s not my job to keep track of him,” Harry snapped. “Sorry, sorry,” he breathed immediately at the stern look on Romilda’s face. “He’s at his cousin’s wedding.”

“Did anyone page him?”

“He’s not on call.”

“That’s hilarious.”

“I’m gonna die. Here. In this hospital. Soon.”

“You’re not gonna die. You’ll pass out first,” Romilda reassured him, giving him a shove into the next patient’s room. 

It was Ron’s boss, Gawain Robards. They’d met a few times and Harry wasn’t necessarily his biggest fan. He looked fine. Maybe a little pale, but fine. “What’s wrong with you?” Harry asked, coming to stand at the end of the bed and glaring at his patient.

“Sprained ankle,” Gawain said, putting down the case file he’d been reading and grimacing at Harry. Harry just stared at him. “Do you want to see it? The mediwitch put this cold thing on it, but--”

“You came all the way here for a sprained ankle?”

“Sprains can be trickier to heal than breaks, you know. Bones are one thing to mend, but if you do the soft tissue wrong the potential for reinjury is higher and the joint may never be the same again.”

“Don’t explain things to me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a trained Healer, I’m not an idiot.”

“Ah, well --”

“What’s the case?”

“Oh, this? Suicide. Nasty, but open shut. Used a muggle weapon, we’re seeing that more and more now. It’s really nothing.” 

“Except you brought it with you to the hospital.”

“Well, see, she was halfway through making a sandwich when she did it. I mean, who does that?”

“No one,” Harry mused, picking up the file and flicking through it.

“Dunno. I guess it just kinda stuck with me, and--”

“She didn’t kill herself.”

“No, she did.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She really did.”

“She really didn’t.”

“You think… ‘cause of the sandwich? That’s hardly a case.”

“She is-- she was-- left-handed.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because of the picture of the sandwich.”

“Oh, huh, okay.”

“But the bullet hole’s on the right side of her head.” 

“Merlin… I have to go!” Gawain swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Not so fast.”

“Yes, so fast! I have to--”

“We need to fix that ankle. You know, sprains can be trickier to heal than breaks.”

“I don’t care. I’ll just deal with it.”

Harry bent down, grabbed Gawain’s ankle, and magically untwisted it. “There,” he said calmly over Gawain’s aborted cry of pain. “All fixed. Romilda will bring you discharge papers. ROMLIDA!” Harry yelled.

“Sorry about him,” Romilda gushed. Harry really should be nicer to Head Auror Robards. “He’s been here for almost two days straight.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!” Gawain shook his head as he signed the papers.

“If I go home, St. Mungo’s won’t be a Level 1 Trauma Center anymore.”

“... So?”

“So, say one of you aurors cracks her head open in the field. They’d have to take her to Beauxbatons to get treatment.”

“Someone with a head injury like that wouldn’t survive the trip…?”

“Exactly.”

“Wait… so what normally happens? You can’t just always be here, can you?”

“Terry’s at a wedding in Kent.”

“Is Terry the other Healer?”

“No, he’s a barista in the cafeteria! Of course he’s the other Healer.”

“Harry! Behave!” Romilda screeched, smacking him over the head with the discharge papers. 

***

“I’m just gonna put my head down for like… five minutes,” Harry slurred at Romlida, before dropping his head to his desk like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

“If you go to sleep now, I don’t think I’ll be able to wake you if they need you.”

“I’ve literally been dead and this is worse.”

“I brought you some soup,” said Gawain from the doorway. 

Harry lolled his head to the side so he could see Gawain without lifting his head. “What?”

“Well, my shift’s over, so I thought I’d bring you some soup on the way home.”

“What?”

“Well, it seems like you might not have eaten in a while.”

“‘M too tired to eat.”

“That’s why I brought soup.”

“Why?”

“I thought you might be hungry. But also not want to eat.”

“No, but why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you think of me?”

“Oh, er, well, we solved the case!”

“What?”

“The not-suicide-actually-murder case. We got the guy who did it, so…”

A chime went off down the hall and Harry instantly sat up straight, looking wide awake. “Hang on,” Romilda cautioned. “I’ll see what it is.” Harry nodded, but continued to stare at the door after she had gone. 

Gawain approached Harry’s desk and sat the soup down. “You don’t have to eat it. It was just a thought.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. And he had never meant those words more in his life.

“Terry’s here,” Romilda appeared in the door. When Harry stood up to leave, she didn’t move.

“What?”

“He’s… erm…” she glanced nervously between Gawain and Harry.

“He’s what, Ro?”

“He’s drunk.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“If you kill him, you’ll have to stay here forever.”

“Oh, don’t be daft, Romilda. He’s leaving in two weeks, they’re hiring a new Healer anyway!”

“Maybe don’t kill him, all the same,” Gawain chimed in.

“Could you just sober him up before you go?” Romilda asked.

“Can’t someone else do that?”

“Well, you’re really good at it.”

“Really?” Gawain asked.

“Lots of practice… most people who come in to Emergencies are drunk or aurors.”

“Will you do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Harry muttered and pushed past Romilda to leave the room.

He left his wand on the desk. Gawain grabbed it and followed Harry out. “Harry, you forgot--”

“Hey, Terry!” Harry called from down the hall. As Terry looked up and grinned at Harry -- definitely drunk -- Harry slapped him hard across the face. 

“-- your wand,” Gawain finished into the resulting silence. 

“I don’t need it,” Harry responded without turning from where he was inspecting Terry.

“Yeah, wow, okay, I’m sober now, Merlin’s balls, okay, yeah,” Terry murmured, rubbing the side of his face as he turned back to face Harry. “Was that really necessary?”

“Get out of my sight,” Harry responded, his tone mild, like he were commenting on the weather. 

“Room 8, Boot,” the Head Mediwitch supplied. 

“Right, well, okay, see you around then,” Terry told Harry, turning to leave.

“Let’s try to avoid that, actually,” Harry said, rather professionally, in his opinion, and then went back to his office for his cloak. 

Gawain followed him. “I still have your wand. Sorry to just grab it like that, but I thought you needed it,” he said, passing Harry his wand.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t really need it for much anymore, especially for spells I’m comfortable with. Healing spells, you know.”

He said this offhandedly, so Gawain tried to mask how impressed he was. “Yeah, sure,” he nodded as though this were common and he understood. 

“Thanks again. For the soup.”

***

Being an Auror wasn’t as glamorous as Draco had thought it would be. He’d been benched since Dawlish retired for need of a partner to go out in the field, and the paper work was going to kill him. Dawlish had left behind an ungodly amount of reports for Draco to finish. Not that Draco had anything better to do, but he was still a little resentful. He looked up when he heard a knock at his door.

“Malfoy!” Potter exclaimed happily as he came in and sat down. “Last night I had the most disturbing dream. There were these fish that had all been hit by cars, you see, and --”

“Good morning, Draco! How are you, Draco? Can I come in, Draco? Do you mind if I have a seat, Draco?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure, but I know you’re not busy.”

“I happen to be swamped in paperwork, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, and you’re dying for an interruption. Come have lunch with me.”

“I already ate.”

“Bullshit. Come have lunch with me.”

“Potter, I really --”

“Let’s go. Come on!”

“Where are Weasley and Granger today?” Draco asked as he stood to get his cloak. 

Potter watched with that particular gleam in his eye that meant he’d got what he wanted. “Oh, Mione’s got a new shipment of books in and, well… you know Ron’s out in the field.” Weasley had indeed be on a long assignment for the past week and a half. Potter looked worried, but seemed to bring himself out of it. “So, where are we off to?”

“Canteen?”

“Oh, seriously, Malfoy?”

“Yes! I told you, I’m busy.”

“Oh, alright, that’s fine. But let’s bring it back to your office. There’s something I want to talk to you about and I’d rather not everyone hear.”

Draco couldn’t help but feel a jolt of excitement. Potter wanted to tell him something that wasn’t for everyone’s ears. “Well, let’s hurry up then so we can have time to talk.”

“Excellent! Knew you’d come around, Malfoy.”

It turned out that what Potter wanted to discuss wasn’t personal, but Draco was still, well, honored that Potter had come to him with this. He usually spent time with Robards and Bones and Weasley when he came to the Ministry, but he had chosen Draco with whom to discuss this.

“I haven’t told Gawain yet, not really sure what he’d think. I wanted time to develop the idea more, you know? So, what do you think? Is it worth pursuing? Would you help me flush it out?”

Draco couldn’t help but draw himself up a little in his seat. He felt important. “Well, you could just take it to Robards now. You know he loves you.”

Potter fucking blushed. “But I don’t know enough about what I’m even asking for! He’ll want to know how much it would cost, for one, and I don’t --”

“Don’t want to talk department budgets post-coitus?”

Potter turned an even deeper red. “We’re not --”

“But you could be.”

“I, well -- what?”

“I mean, he’s only 12 years older than you,” said Draco as he shrugged, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

“This is not how I envisioned this conversation going,” Potter groaned into his hands. 

“Okay, okay, I’m done teasing. Let’s put together a memo for Robards.”

“Yes!” Potter nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s make it as professional as possible.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I am a professional Auror, you know,” he said, reaching into his desk for a piece of official office stationery. “I don’t just hang around this place because Robards likes to stare at my arse.”

“Hey! I’m a professional, too!”

“And I’m sure that’s why you’re here so much.”

“I’m here so much because I’m the best trauma Healer at St. Mungo’s and you know it. That’s exactly why we need this program. If we could get St. Mungo’s and the Auror Office to cooperate more directly, think of how much safer the Aurors would be.”

“Actually, do you think you could draw up any numbers on that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Robards is a Ravenclaw” -- and therefore a psychopath, Draco didn’t add -- “as many numbers are we can have, the more sense this will make to him. How many Aurors would have benefitted from more immediate care for their injuries, and what were the consequences of the delays? If you can write that up, I’ll handle the rest.”

“I should go back to the hospital then, look through old files. I mean, I know some off the top of my head, but not enough to give an exact number--”

“Which is what Robards will want.”

Potter scrunched up his nose. “Yes, I know. Thanks for lunch, Malfoy.” He winked at Draco on his way out the door, and Draco’s whole body felt warmer. 

***

Harry was next at the Auror Office not to bother Malfoy or to tease Gawain, but to tend to Ron’s injuries. The alarm had gone off about three hours after Ron was supposed to have checked back in, and so Harry was already worried. He’d thought about going over to the Ministry anyway -- he was sure there was something he could complain to Gawain about -- when he was called. 

When he arrived, Ron was sitting up against the wall by the apparation point, his teeth gritted in pain and his wand arm cradled to his chest. Susan was sitting by his side, encouraging him to breathe and keeping the others away from him. Harry rushed over, almost knocking Susan out of the way to get near Ron. 

Ron had raised his arm to deflect a large dart that had pierced his arm entirely and then his right lung. “Alright, Harry?” he gasped as Harry nealt down and pried Ron’s left arm away from the area. 

“Ronald Weasley, you blithering idiot,” Harry chastised as he set to work. “Susan, be useful and get the dittany out of my kit, would you? I mean, Merlin’s beard, Ron, did they not teach you defensive magic in Auror training?”

“Was… holding a shield so Susie could… finish the translation… couldn’t…”

“Don’t blame this on Susan. You’re damn lucky she puts up with you as it is,” Harry scolded as he finished cleaning the blood off the area to get a better look. He broke the tail off the dart and then was the warning of “slight pinch” he lifted Ron’s right arm off the dart. Ron banged his head on the wall behind him and scrunched his face in pain. 

“Oh, Ron,” Susan cooed as she brushed his hair off his sweaty face.

“‘M fine,” Ron grunted, forcing a smile onto his face for his partner. “Really not… that bad.” Indeed, Harry had healed Ron’s arm wound was a murmur and a wave of his hand. “Harry wouldn’t yell… if I were really gonna die.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna die, Ron, don’t be so melodramatic,” Harry muttered as he inspected the wound in his friend’s side. He was going to have to make a slight incision in order to remove the dart head without tearing up more of Ron’s lung. “Hey, Ron, look at Susie!” Harry called cheerfully. 

Ron, who had been watching Harry with vague interest, lolled his head to the side to gaze confusedly at Susan. Harry made the cut, removed the dart, and sealed the wound. “Ouch!” Ron exclaimed, his lung now healed and the full power of speech returned to him. “Warn a guy, will you?”

“Didn’t want you to tense up,” Harry said distractedly as he inspected the dart tip. “Not poisonous. You’re definitely gonna live.”

“Yes!” Ron cheered, throwing his fist into the air. He winced immediately.

“Of course, you’ll be a little sore for awhile,” Harry commented casually as he packed up his kit. 

“Sore? Feels like I’ve been shot in the chest with a fucking dart!” 

“Well, that is what happened. Take it easy, mate.”

“Hey, Harry, how about we don’t mention this to Hermione? It’s just that I promised I’d be more careful, see? And I think she’ll be rather peeved.”

“Too late,” Gawain cut in. “Department procedure. She’s your emergency contact.”

“I’m surprised she’s not here yet,” Harry added as he stood with his kit and checked his watch.

“Oh, bollocks,” Ron muttered. He tried to stand, but Harry and Susan both shoved him back down.

“Susan, keep him there for at least 20 minutes and have him drink some water.”

“Show’s over, folks, back to work,” Gawain barked as he headed back to his office as well.

“I’ll be back,” Harry said, reaching down to ruffle Ron’s hair. He headed after Gawain. “Not so fast!” he called to the man’s retreating back. 

Gawain slowed, dragging his feet and groaning. “I’m fine,” he whined. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he commented flatly. 

“Can’t we at least do this in my office?” For a Head Auror, Gawain looked suspiciously like he was about to throw a tantrum. With a sigh, Harry gestured for him to lead the way. 

Gawain had been hit with a nasty spell last week. His chest was completely cut up, and the wounds could not be healed by magic. Harry had sutured them the Muggle way and wanted to make sure Gawain was keeping them clean. 

“Sit on your desk and take off your shirt,” Harry commented without looking at Gawain, opening his kit on said desk and searching for the items he would need. His head snapped up when he heard the door close. Gawain met his eyes and took off his shirt as Harry had instructed. 

The first time Harry had come to the Auror Office had not been as a Healer. He’d just started his clinicals at St. Mungo’s when he’d been called in for questioning. Ron, still a trainee, hadn’t know what it was about. Not wanting to attract attention, they’d asked him to come over the lunch hour, as though going to see a friend. Harry had hoped he might be able to really see a friend, but he’d been taken straight down to the dungeons and sat alone in a questioning room. 

While the Dementors had been gone from the Ministry for over two years now, the feel of them lingered. Something must have come up -- the Aurors were quite busy those days -- and Harry waited for almost three hours before anyone came. They’d checked his wand outside the room, which Harry had found amusing, insulting, and worrying all at once, and he was left with no way of dispelling the fog of the room. Having always been “delicate,” as Madame Pomfrey had once said, or very sensitive to the Dementors, Harry was most certainly not enjoying himself. 

Finally, an Auror had bustled into the room, loudly made his apologies for being late, scraped his chair across the ground, and slammed his papers and coffee mug down the table. Harry was finally startled out of his own thoughts by the creak of the table when the man leaned forward on it. He turned his head slowly and examined his new companion. The Auror looked horrified. Harry cocked his head to the side, his too-pale face expressionless and his eyes blank. 

“Hello,” the man choked out. Harry inclined his head slightly to show that he had heard. “Are you… are you quite alright?” Harry nodded his head once. “Do you… How are… Erm, would it be… do you want…?” he just trailed off, giving up. 

“What are you trying to ask me?” Harry’s voice was hoarse and quiet from hours of silence.

“I’ll be right back,” the man said hastily as he started to stand up.

“Wait!” Harry shouted, his arm shooting across the table to grab the man’s arm. He met the man’s eyes. Don’t leave me alone down here again. He pulled his arm back quickly, realizing he probably shouldn’t grab an Auror like that, especially not when he was being questioned, but the man froze in place. 

“You just look like you’ve…. seen some shit… and I reckon you have, yeah? I really will come right back. I promise. I have some chocolate in my desk upstairs. I was trying to ask if you’d like some.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t want any. Let’s just get this over with. I want to go home.”

“Yeah, no, I mean, of course. It’s really, ah…”

“Please,” Harry whispered. “Can we just get this over with?”

“I’m Robards, by the way. I know who you are, of course, but we never actually met. Gawain Robards,” the man said as he extended his hand. Harry did not take it. 

“Gawain?”

“Yes?”

“Can we please just get this over with?”

“We need your help.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange” -- and that was not the name Harry needed to hear after sitting in this room alone all afternoon -- “uh, sorry.” Harry had buried his face in his hands, trying to give himself the illusion of privacy. He held his breath and tried not to cry. Pull yourself together, Potter, good god. Gawain started to reach across the table, but before he could touch Harry, Harry grabbed Gawain’s wrist, twisted it around, and pinned him to the table. 

“Sorry,” Harry gasped, letting go when he saw the flicker of pain on the Auror’s face. This was not going well for him. He had basically done the opposite of what Ron had told him to do. 

“It’s alright,” Gawain said, holding his hands up. “I shouldn’t have tried to touch you without asking first. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve already given my statement about Lestrange,” Harry said after a long silence. 

“Yes, and thank you for doing that,” Gawain said hesitantly, indicating the file he had brought down with him, but keeping his hands in the air. “We desperately need to bring her in.”

“I’m sure.”

“Do you… Erm, do you know how we might go about that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you have any… I mean, since you have… extensive… experience with Death Eaters. And her. We thought you might know… or have some ideas… about how we might, you know, catch her.”

“I’d like to speak to your supervisor.”

“I’m the Head Auror.”

Harry laughed, but it sounded hollow and tired. “Then I’d like to speak to Ron Weasley.”

“He’s a trainee.”

“I know. I’d like to speak with him.” 

Gawain took an interoffice memo out of his pocket and scribbled something on it before folding it up and sending it away with a swoosh. “Alright, he’s on his way. In the meantime --”

“No.”

“No?”

“Let’s just sit here in silence.”

And so they did. 

Ron had obviously run all the way down. “Sorry, sir, lifts were out, took the stairs,” he puffed as he burst into the room. Then he saw Harry. “Hey, mate…” he edged. Harry did not look well. 

“Could you give us a moment alone?” Harry asked Gawain.

“He’ll be able to see and hear us, you know,” Ron said, still trying to regain control of his breathing. 

“I don’t care about that. I just don’t want him in my line of sight right now.”

Gawain cleared out rather quickly. Ron took his vacated seat and reached across the table for Harry’s hands. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry muttered as he gingerly took Ron’s left forearm in both his hands. It was bruised and a little swollen. “What happened?”

“Training exercise.”

“Well, they took my wand, but I can still fix this for you,” Harry said in his Bedside Voice. 

“Harry, what is going on? Why would they take your wand?”

“I actually don’t know why they did that,” Harry smiled at Ron’s arm as he watched the bruising fade. 

Ron looked concerned. “Listen, Harry --”

“I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, Ron. That bumbling idiot is apparently your boss. It’s just that I’ve been down here alone for the better part of the afternoon.”

“Without your wand.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Ron whispered. 

“Yeah.”

“I also think I’ve done something to my shoulder. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Harry smiled. Ron was better than chocolate. 

Ron came home from training that evening to find Harry crying into Hermione’s arms on the sofa while Crookshank watched. Harry had tried to apologize for the position he’d put Ron in that afternoon, but it turned out Ron had been promoted. 

After reaming Robards out in front of the whole department after Harry had left, Robards had apparently decided that Ron was ready for casework. “He said I acted exactly the way an Auror should,” Ron said was a shrug. 

Harry nodded in approval. “Maybe Gawain’s not so bad, then, but I still think he’s an idiot.”

“Oh, yes, definitely an idiot,” Ron agreed enthusiastically. 

“In the way only Ravenclaws can be,” Hermione added sagely as she vanished Harry’s snot from the front of her robes. 

The next morning, Harry had showed up in the Auror Office dragging Bellatrix Lestrange by the ear. 

“Let go of me!” Bellatrix shouted. “This is… Auror brutality!”

For good measure, Harry took this moment to shove her head roughly into wall. “Oh, but I’m not an Auror, you see.” She managed to twist clear of his grip, but Harry reached around and grabbed her by the hair this time. “I’m a Healer.”

Bellatrix broke free of him with a nasty kick to the shins and took off down the hall at a sprint. Harry extended his hand after her, and the force of his wandless spell knocked her to the ground. Harry calmly advanced on her prone body as Aurors began to gather. The wind knocked out of her, Bellatrix didn’t turn over to face Harry until he had almost reached her. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?” she pouted.

“Crossed my fingers,” Harry sneered, raising his hand again. 

“We’ll take it from here, Potter,” Gawain interrupted. 

“Couldn’t you let me torture her just a little bit?” Harry wheedled. 

“Erm, no. Of course not.”

“See? Auror brutality!” Bellatrix exclaimed gleefully. 

“Just promise me you’ll treat her terribly,” Harry implored Gawain. 

“I’ll book her,” Ron said calmly, moving to stand next to Harry.

Bellatrix turned green. “I’d rather have Harry.”

“Well, Potter’s not an Auror. Mr. Weasley here is, so he’ll be booking you. All yours, Weasley!” 

“See? I’m a Healer,” Harry said mockingly. “Thanks for looking after her for me, Ron.”

“What are friends for?” Ron replied with a down-right evil grin. 

As Ron booked Bellatrix, Harry followed Gawain back to his office. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” Gawain began. The sounds of the rest of the department celebrating could be heard outside as the two of them sat in silence in the Head Auror’s Office. 

“Okay. Go ahead then.”

“What?”

“You said you wanted to apologize. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, I mean, sorry about that.”

“And?”

“And thank you?”

“That wasn’t exactly an apology, you know.”

“I said I was sorry.” 

Harry waited. Gawain shifted his weight back and forth uneasily. Finally, he cleared his throat. “It was rude to make you wait like that.” 

“Rude? You think it was rude? You think you need to apologize because I had to wait? I don’t mind waiting, Gawain, I can be very patient. I would have very happily sat in the foyer and waited to speak with you. I would have very happily continued my work at the hospital until you were able to call me to come over. You made me wait in an interrogation room for hours to ask me to do you a huge fucking favor. An interrogation room that used to be filled with dementors, by the way. Which would have been fine. You were right, I have seen some shit, as you so charmingly put it. I killed Voldemort, I can handle fucking dementors, expect you took my wand. Do you have any fucking idea what those hours were like for me?” 

By the time he finished, Harry was yelling. Gawain, to his credit, was still making eye contact with Harry. Although, that might have been in order to ward off any potential attacks than out of respect. Taking a deep breath, Harry continued more calmly. “The only reason I brought her in today was because, in spite of all that, you were actually rather kind to me.”

“Well, you looked like you’d been through hell. It was the least I could do.”

“You put me through hell, you imbecile.” The lamp on Gawain’s desk exploded. 

“I’m sorry,” Gawain placated.

“You keep saying that.”

“I am. Truly.”

“Just saying sorry isn’t an apology.”

“I’m sorry I put you through hell. It was thoughtless and unnecessary. I spent all of last night reviewing our procedures for routine questioning. I haven’t slept at all. I don’t want anything like that to happen in this Auror Office again, not while I’m in charge of it.”

Satisfied, Harry nodded. “I accept your apology. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for morning rounds,” Harry said, turning to leave.

“Aren’t you going to apologize for breaking my lamp?” Gawain joked.

“I would, but I’m not sorry. It was a hideous lamp,” Harry threw over his shoulder as he walked out the door, leaving Gawain standing alone is his office, his mouth hanging open and the shards of his lamp around his feet. 

In spite of Gawain Robards, or perhaps because of him, Harry found excuses to visit Ron at work more often. And of course, once he became the Head Trauma Healer at St. Mungo’s he was often in the Auror Office on business. Like today. 

Harry grimaced when Gawain removed his shirt. “That bad looking, am I?” Gawain joked. The bruising was bad, but only one of the cuts looked inflamed. 

“Why didn’t you show me earlier?” Harry fussed, herding Gawain towards the desk so he could get a better look. “Merlin, the lighting in here is shit.”

“Well, I used to have this really nice lamp, but --”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry muttered, reaching out to press gently on the inflamed cut. Gawain hissed. “Yeah, this’ll have to be drained. Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand,” Gawain said stiffly. 

Harry finally tore his eyes from Gawain’s chest to look incredulously up at his face. “What is it with Aurors and pain? Is this an environment you foster?”

“Well, stiff upper lip and all that. Here, you sit,” Gawain said, grabbing Harry by the waist and hoisting him onto the desk. Harry yelped in a rather undignified manner and glared up at Gawain, who kept his hands on Harry’s waist and smiled down at him.

“This is a professional, strictly medical --” but Gawain cut Harry off by moving one hand from his waist to the back of his head, bringing their mouths together. Harry meant it. This was official hospital business, and he tried desperately not to make a habit of fucking Gawain when they were both on the clock. But then, if wishes were horses or however the fuck that expression was supposed to go. 

Harry couldn’t help but grip Gawain’s shoulders hard and groan into his mouth. Gawain grinned and moved his arm around Harry’s waist, yanking him to the edge of the desk. “Fuck, I missed you,” Gawain mouthed at Harry’s jaw. “Where were you all week?”

Merlin help him, but Gawain was an asshole. Sighing in annoyance, Harry pushed him back slightly, reaching for his kit again. “Rome,” he replied shortly.

“Wait, really? Why?” Gawain asked, sounding a little dazed.

“Presenting research at a conference. You were supposed to come up for a day. I thought you were busy here, but did you honestly forget where I went?”

Gawain was not tracking this conversation very well. “Is it weird that sometimes I forget how good you are at your job?” Harry didn’t reply, just pressed the sharp edge of his lancet against Gawain’s infected cut, wiping the pus away with a piece of gauze as it started to ooze out. “I just meant that I take for granted what a brilliant Healer you are, that’s all,” Gawain said through gritted teeth. 

Harry glared icily up at him. “I’m sure.”

“It’s a compliment.”

“It doesn’t help that you tell everyone what a great Auror I would have been,” Harry sulked as he started removing the stitches from the healed wounds. 

“Harry, you’re the best Auror in the department and you don’t even work here.”

“Exactly, Gawain. I don’t work here. I’m good at my job. As a Healer.” 

“Hey, I’ll be the first to admit that you have many talents,” Gawain joked, but he turned his laugh into a cough when he saw Harry was unamused. Harry had finished removing the stitches and noted the infected wound was done draining. He ran his hand along it gently, trying with no avail to heal it with magic. “Feels a lot better now,” Gawain commented uneasily. Harry nodded, taking an ointment from his kit and spreading a thin coat of it over the area before covering it with a fresh bandage. 

“We’ll have to keep an eye on this. I want to change the dressing again in the morning.”

“What if you did work here?” 

Harry snapped his kit closed and moved to slide off the desk, but Gawain held him in place. “I have to go check on Ron.”

“What if you did work here?” Gawain asked again. “I put that memo you and Malfoy wrote through. Shacklebolt thinks it’s a good idea.” 

“That doesn’t mean I would work here.”

“Right, well, I may have changed it a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the part you and Malfoy wrote was great, but there’s so much more you could be doing if you were around the office all the time.”

“What do you mean: all the time?”

“You could help us develop safer training programs, work on nutrition issues, work on cases… like that one we had last month, with the counterfeit potions. If you’d been there to help analyze samples at the beginning, we would have had that closed earlier and with less damage. I put in a request to hire a Medical Consultant for casework and Auror safety.”

“And Kinsley agreed?”

“Yes,” Gawain began. “With the understanding, of course, that you’re the only person in the known world currently qualified for such a position.” 

“I’m not a trained Auror.”

“Well, clearly you don’t need to be. Do you know that, unofficially speaking of course, you have the most arrests of anyone currently working for me?”

“That can’t be right.”

“No, seriously, if we really gave credit where it was due, you’ve solved most of these cases. As it is, you just make Weasley, Bones, and me look good.”

“Is this why Kingsley wants to see me?”

“Yes, it is. Just… think about it.”

“Think about it?”

“Okay, I know that 95% of the time when you’re talking about the hospital, I don’t listen. I only take an interest in your career as far as it applies to mine. And that’s shitty of me and I’m sorry. But I have gleaned that you enjoy your time at St. Mungo’s and if you want to stay… then you should.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Gawain said, putting his hands up like he had in their first meeting. It had become a sign between the two of them to mean that the intentions were true. 

“You’re an asshole, but I like you anyway,” Harry said as he pulled Gawain back towards him. Gawain grinned and bent his head to kiss Harry again, but Harry pressed their foreheads together instead. “I’ll see you later.” Pushing a stunned Gawain back, Harry hopped off the desk and left the room.

“Harry!” Hermione called. “Tell Ron--”

“Mate, you --”

“--that we’re going--”

“--have to--”

“--straight home.”

“--save me.”

“He won’t listen to me,” Hermione said, indicating her husband. 

“I’m listening, I just disagree,” Ron countered. 

“Let’s get you home, Ron.”

“Not you as well!”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, mate.”

“Why do you even want to stay?” Susan, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke.

“Yeah, Ron, the paperwork will still be here tomorrow,” Harry teased.

“Paperwork?”

“Oh, yeah, getting injured on the job like that… you’ll need to file an additional report,” Susan reminded him.

“And so will I. So thanks for that, mate.”

“Sorry, Harry, next time I save Susan’s life I’ll be sure to think about how it will affect you.”

“That’s all I’m asking, Ron. Just be a little considerate, would you?”

Ron stuck his tongue out at Harry.

***

Hermione had insisted that Harry come home with them to make sure Ron was okay. Ron had complained, said a lot of things that made little sense, and then fallen asleep about five minutes after arriving home.

“Oh, thank god,” Hermione had breathed when Ron started snoring. 

“He’s really going to be fine,” Harry tried to reassure his friend.

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to hear about Italy! I’m opening a bottle of wine,” Hermione said as she sprang up and headed to the kitchen. Harry laughed and followed her. 

“Well, what do you want to know?” Harry asked as he took his first sip of wine.

“Tell me everything!”

“What does that even mean: everything?” Harry laughed again.

“Well, fine then, I’ll tell you what I really want to know,” Hermione whispered conspiratorially. “What did you do on the days when you weren’t presenting?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Just went to the conference,” Harry shrugged. Hermione frowned. “I mean, I did a little sightseeing, but honestly --”

“Didn’t Gawain come down?” she whispered craning her neck to make sure Ron was still asleep in the next room. Hermione was the only one Harry had told about Gawain. Given how closely they worked together, their relationship broke about a dozen Ministry regulations and one of the most important tenets of St. Mungo’s policy: don’t treat people you’re fucking. 

Harry shook his head, trying to stifle his laugh this time so as not to wake Ron. “No, he didn’t.”

“Why is that funny?”

“Hermione… he forgot where I went.”

“What?”

“I saw him today and he honestly asked where I’d been all week.”

Hermione just stared with her mouth open. “How is he the Head Auror, again?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Was he… I don’t know… concerned?”

“No… just said he missed me. Wondered where I’d been.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Harry woke up early. He went to Kingsley’s office and accepted the new position, cleared away all the rubbish snacks the Aurors kept around the coffee machine, thereby fulfilling one of his greatest ambitions in life, and then sat in Gawain’s office to wait.

“And where exactly am I supposed to work?” Harry asked as soon as Gawain’s door opened.

“Merlin! Fuck!” Gawain yelled, dropping all his files to reach for his wand.

Laughing, Harry snapped his fingers and Gawain’s files soared into place on his desk. “Did you sleep at all?” Harry asked, turning on the light and surveying Gawain.

“Erm, no, because of the… the…” Gawain gestured uselessly at the files on his desk. 

“Oh, I see,” Harry nodded, as though Gawain had said something wise. 

“Anyway, it’s not… you didn’t come over last night.”

“You’re taking a sick day.”

“Not sick.”

“You will be soon if you never sleep.”

“I sleep.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I dunno. What day is it now?”

“You’re taking a sick day. And that’s my call now since I’m in charge of the medical welfare of all the Aurors.”

“Oh! So you’re --”

“Go. Home.”

“Will you come with me?” Gawain wheedled.

“No.”

“I honestly don’t think I can apparate again, actually.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake…”

“Please?”

And it was the “please” that got Harry -- that’s how he knew Gawain was genuinely exhausted. “Yes, alright, I’ll come tuck you in. Let’s go,” he said as he offered his arm to Gawain. Gawain tried to reach for the files on his desk again, but Harry lunged forward and disapparted them both before he could.

The force of Harry’s movement carried through in the apparation, and they ended up sprawled on Gawain’s living room floor. Gawain immediately rolled them over, pinning Harry to the floor and smirking down at him. 

“No, absolutely not. I’m too old to do this on the floor.”

“You’re 23.”

“Yes, Gawain, very good. Now get off me.” 

Gawain cocked his head to the side and nudged Harry’s legs apart so he could settle between them. “What do you mean by ‘this’?” he asked, rolling his hips and raising an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t sass me. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Mmhmm, but I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you should get off me.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to get off me.”

“Okay then, I’ll start: I want to fuck you.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry stalled, squirming slightly under the pressure of Gawain’s hips, “We can do that in a bed, right?”

“What’s wrong with the floor?”

“Why are you so resistant to moving?” Harry marveled. 

“There’s literally no reason, but I’m too tired to be reasonable.”

Gawain had the stubborn streak of a Gryffindor and it vexed Harry to no end. But then, Harry had the devious streak of a Slytherin. Feigning deep sympathy, Harry reached up to gently cup Gawain’s face. Gawain nuzzled Harry’s palm before turning his head to place gentle kisses on Harry’s wrist. Harry sighed and relaxed, as though planning to settle in on the floor, and Gawain smiled softly, brushing his lips against Harry’s.

Harry smiled, too. His plan was to convince Gawain that moving to the bed was his idea and then fuck him into the longest sleep of his life. His hands had been braced against Gawain’s shoulders to shove him off, but he relaxed them now, sliding them to meet at Gawain’s collar. Harry tugged on Gawain’s shirt, pulling him into a real kiss as he started to undo the front of his uniform. This proved more difficult than Harry had anticipated and he gave it up for the time being, reaching down instead to untuck Gawain’s shirt and slide his hands up his chest. 

Then Gawain ducked his head to suck at that place on Harry’s neck. Harry gasped sharply, his grip on Gawain tightening, and his legs fell open helplessly. “Fuck,” Gawain breathed. 

“Ideally, yes,” Harry managed, pulling uselessly at Gawain’s shirt. “We need to be naked. Now.”

Gawain took both of Harry’s hands in his, threading their fingers together and pressing them into the floor above Harry’s head. He kissed Harry like it was the only thing giving him life. Harry felt slightly dizzy and his focus shifted. He could feel himself losing sight of his illustrious goal, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care. Harry moaned in Gawain’s mouth and arched his back, hoping to inspire Gawain to move more quickly. 

“What’s the rush?” Gawain hummed, skimming his lips over Harry’s cheek and brow bones. Harry whined and struggled fruitlessly to free his hands in response. Gawain chuckled softly. “It’s been awhile, and I want to take my time.”

“It has been awhile, which is entirely your fault,” Harry panted. “Why should I suffer for your mistakes?” 

“I need to work less and fuck you more.”

“If only for the sake of your health,” Harry agreed. This time when he tried to move his hands Gawain let him, and Harry immediately started working to get Gawain’s pants off. Gawain rocked back on his heels, out of reach, and examined Harry.

“Let’s go to bed,” he conceded and reached out a hand for Harry. Harry couldn’t help but smirk, sure that he would finally get his way. Gawain grinned in return, but there was a calculated edge to it that Harry missed until it was too late: he was naked in Gawain’s bed and a mostly clothed Gawain was grinning down at him again. “I know you better than you think I do.” Confused, Harry frowned. “Oh, yeah, your plan was to tire me out and then just go back to work, wasn’t it? And you think I work too much…”

“You do work too much,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as Gawain moved to settle his shoulders between Harry’s legs.

“You came back from a week in Italy caught up on all your paperwork.”

“Again-- your fault.”

“You were waiting for me in my office at 6:30.”

“I wouldn’t have to lie in wait for you if you’d thought to give me an offi -- ah!”

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Gawain commented incredulously, staring confoundedly at the slick finger he had slid into Harry.

“Also your fault,” Harry breathed, scrunching his eyes shut and canting his hips up.

“Yeah, but don’t you masturbate? I mean, do you--”

“Gawain! I realize this is of academic interest to you, but now is not the time.”

“Well, not purely academic,” Gawain smirked up at Harry, who had opened his eyes to glare down at Gawain, before taking Harry’s cock in his mouth and adding a second finger. And that was a much better use for Gawain’s mouth. 

***

One of the first cases Potter and Draco worked together was the investigation of a series of dark objects that had landed many muggles and wizards alike in St. Mungo’s. Potter still didn’t have an office, so they were sitting in Draco’s looking over case files. 

“Okay, I’m gonna make a list of things it’s not,” Draco said into the silence.

“No, don’t do that! I’ll only be able to think of what it’s not, then. Let’s make a list of things it might be instead.”

“Sure. And what might it be, Potter? Enlighten me, please.”

“There a lot of things it could be, Malfoy. Don’t get snappy with me.”

Malfoy sighed sharply and went back to contemplating his files in silence. Harry threw his down on the desk and yawned loudly. 

“Sorry, am I boring you?” Malfoy sneered.

“Actually, physiologically speaking, yawning--”

“Don’t care.”

“-- is your body’s way of--”

“Stop talking.”

“Hey, this is my area of expertise,” Harry grinned.

“Yes and I’m…” Malfoy’s look of disdain slowly cleared and he stared past Harry into the middle distance. 

“What, Malfoy?”

“We need to go to Malfoy Manor.”

“Can we just go over? Didn’t Ron say that we would have file a --”

“We don’t have time for that. It’s ridiculous that I would have file to report to return to my family home, is it not?”

“I mean, I don’t really understand all the paperwork that happens here. Maybe we should ask Ron.”

“No, Potter. We should clock out like we’re taking an early lunch and just get this done.”

“What exactly are we getting done?”

“There’s a library --”

“Malfoy, I think what you’re proposing is illegal.”

“Yes, but we won’t get caught, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, well then, brilliant, let’s go,” Potter’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“That’s the spirit,” Draco said happily. He ran out of the office, punched out, and headed toward the apparation point. “Let’s take an early lunch and think it over, Potter,” he called over his shoulder right before he vanished.

Potter didn’t follow him, which disappointed Draco. The wards on the Manor would be difficult to get through on his own, for as much as Draco hated to admit it, Potter was incredibly talented.

Draco had just about separated the wards and was examining the different layers when Potter appeared behind him, waved the wards away with a flick of his wrist, and strode past Draco onto the grounds. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, not bothering to look back at Draco as he continued walking towards the Manor.

“It does make a great deal of difference to me, you know, having someone with me who I can trust.”

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Potter muttered, but Draco could tell he was pleased. 

Weasley, as part of his bizarre love affair with procedure, had also papered the door to the Manor shut and printed the Auror Office Guidelines and Restrictions right over the crease. “Damn, that’s gonna be hard to get off.”

Potter shook his head. “Ron’s magic usually listens to me,” he said as he gently coaxed the paper right off the door. “Let’s hurry.”

Draco nodded and pushed past Potter into the main hall. “I’ll only be a minute. Watch the door,” he said distractedly, already making his way towards the main staircase. Potter didn’t respond. 

***

Once Malfoy was out of his sight Harry felt, if possible, even more uneasy. He’d never had a chance to really look around Malfoy’s childhood home, and found himself oddly curious. Harry walked towards the base of the stairs up which Malfoy had disappeared. To his left and down a small flight of stairs was the living room where he and Bellatrix had had their… conversation. It was odd to see it so quiet and still. 

Harry slowly entered the room, letting his footsteps echo. He crossed to the place where he had been tortured. It felt so strange to be here now, staring down at it. The ground was not visibly marked, but dark magic leaves traces, and Harry didn’t think he was imagining the chill in the air. He felt distinctly disconnected from his surroundings. He decided to lay down. 

This felt better, he thought, more grounded, as he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, like coming full circle. Malfoy’s feet on the staircase sounded so far away. Like this had all been a dream. Like he had just lain here for the past six years and was only now coming back to awareness. “Potter! Where are you? Let’s go!” Malfoy called as he reached the foyer. Harry didn’t move. It didn’t seem important. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Malfoy was standing over him, looking concerned. 

“Potter?”

“Why didn’t you tell her it was Ron?”

“What?”

“You knew it was Ron. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I could see how scared you were and I knew it was important.”

“I wasn’t scared.”

“Well, maybe you should have been.”

Harry hummed noncommittally in response and went back to staring blankly at the ceiling. This wasn’t how Draco had played this out in his head at all. He felt he was out of options, so he laid down on the floor next to Harry. 

“Do you… erm, do you want to talk about it?” Draco felt ridiculous asking, and furtively looked anywhere but at Harry. 

“Can we go, actually? I really would rather not be here anymore.”

“Oh, of course, sorry, I --” and then, Draco realized why this conversation was not happening the way he had dreamed it would: “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“I should have asked someone else to come with me. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s okay, Malfoy. I’m sure a lot of terrible things happened while you were here. Why would this one stand out?”

“Because it does. Or it did. Sometimes I think about how oddly parallel our lives have run, and it’s the moments of shared horror that remind me of that the most. Like how I could have been your closest friend and deepest confidant because of all these things I told myself we shared, but we really didn’t, because I was always on the wrong side of things.”

Harry was quiet for a long time. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, it’s like I said: I’m always on the wrong side of things. I’m not a brave person, Potter.”

“Sure you are.”

“I won’t deny that spending so much time with Gryffindors hasn’t changed me… but I’m often afraid, even now.”

“Being a Gryffindor isn’t about being fearless, it’s about what you do with your fear.”

“And that’s why I was always on the wrong side of things. I couldn’t be brave.”

“You were always a complete asshole to Ron at school, but when it matter most you saved his family.”

“So you think that absolves me of the way I acted?”

“No. But since then you have made different choices. Just yesterday you acknowledged Ron in the lift.”

“So, I’m coming around?” Malfoy smiled.

“No, I think you’re just being who you’ve always really been. Everyone gets scared, Malfoy,” he paused. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to be in Gryffindor.”

“What do you mean?”

“The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked to be in Gryffindor. Everyone gets scared, but anyone can choose to be brave.”

***

When they got back to the office, Ron was waiting for them. Malfoy and Harry exchanged a hesitant glance. Harry was still a little unsteady on his feet, but Ron didn’t notice.

“Where have you been? Oh, don’t bother answering, I know! Did you even stop to think about what the consequences of your actions might be?”

“Ron, listen --”

“Don’t, Harry. Just don’t. Merlin help me, but you’re making me sound like my mother. We have rules for a reason, Harry.”

“It was my idea, Weasley,” Malfoy cut in. 

“I don’t care who’s fucking idea it was! Malfoy, you shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. You are a trained Auror. I realize Harry hasn’t been properly trained for 75% of the things we have him doing, but you are. If you’re out in the field ever, but especially with him, you need to use your fucking brain!”

“I think you’re overreacting, Ron,” Harry said, the way he sometimes spoke to patients who were hysterical. 

“Am I? Harry, I have seen your dead body. And I’d really rather not have to see it again.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Ron.”

Ron took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself a bit. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“Follow the fucking rules.” With one last glare at Malfoy, Ron turned and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him. 

***

Harry woke up after Gawain, who was sitting up in bed, reading a casefile, while he rubbed lazy circles on Harry’s back. Gawain smiled down at Harry, who stretched and shifted up the bed so he could look at what Gawain was reading. He immediately regretted his decision. 

“Ugh, Gawain, why?” Harry asked, hiding his face in Gawain’s side so he wouldn’t have to see at the photos of dead children Gawain was looking through. 

“It’s for a case.”

“Well, I should bloody well hope so. I meant why now?”

“I can’t work on it at the office… it’s not really a case.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t have permission to open it.”

“Permission from whom? Aren’t you the Head Auror.”

“Permission from Pierce, the DMLE Head. I understand… If I publicly pursued this and it turned out I was wrong… it would be ugly.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Why not? I won’t tell anyone.”

“In part because I sound like a complete lunatic whenever I actually give voice to it and… and because I can’t. You know too many people.”

“Fine,” Harry huffed and closed his eyes again. He could hear Gawain shifting through the file, but started to drift back to sleep. 

“Just out of curiousity, how much contact have you had with Terry Boot since he left St. Mungo’s?”

“None and I’m going to go have a shower,” Harry glared over his shoulder at Gawain as he left the room. 

***

It wasn’t often that Harry and Ron were able to spend time just the two of them when they weren’t working, so they had volunteered to run errands for Hermione in Diagon Alley. She had been understandably wary as she turned over her list and didn’t seem to be expecting too much in way of results. 

Indeed, Harry and Ron were sitting outside having coffee, not a single errand completed. 

“I need to ask you about something.” 

“Okay,” Harry responded, unintentionally assuming a more professional posture and turning to look at Ron.

“Stop it. I mean as your friend, not your patient.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Ron sighed. 

“There’s a case I’m not working and I’m not allowed to talk about it,” Ron began in a whisper. 

“Then we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“You’re right. That’s probably best.” He paused and then, “How much contact have you had with St. Mungo’s staff since you left?”

“Well, I’m still at the hospital a couple afternoons a week, depending on Auror schedules.”

“And what else?”

“And I still see Justin and Hannah from time to time.”

“Excellent. Do you think you could -- you know what, never mind.”

“What, Ron?” 

“Oh, Merlin, duck.”

“What?”

“Maybe he won’t see us. Turn in your chair just a little and -- never mind it’s too late.”

“Who are you --”

“Good morning, Michael!” Ron said a little too cheerfully. 

Harry turned reluctantly in his chair and forced a smile at Michael Corner. “Morning,” he managed, more out of surprise than anything. 

Michael just nodded in response. “Listen, erm, I know you’ve been doing more work for the Aurors, not sure how much you’re around the hospital anymore, so I thought you might not know.”

“Know what?”

“Terry’s back in country and he’ll be starting up at St. Mungo’s. I’m not sure if you’re still in contact, so I figured a bit of warning might be fair.”

“Thanks, Michael, but of course I knew,” Harry felt his fake smile stretching thin across his face.

“Right, well, have a good day,” Michael muttered and drifted away.

“Bye, Michael!” Ron called happily after him. “Why didn’t you tell me Boot was coming back?” he shot across the table at Harry once Michael was out of earshot.

“I didn’t know…”


	4. Chapter 4

Terry Boot had returned to England. He had been given a research position in St. Mungo’s Potions Lab and would most certainly be at the fundraiser tonight. Harry -- although he was pretending to have a strictly professional relationship with Gawain -- had invited him anyway. 

“Aurors should be there to support the hospital. Merlin knows you’re our most frequent customers.” 

Gawain had agreed to come, but that they should arrive separately. So Harry was attempting to get ready with Hermione, who had secured an invitation simply by being important, as far as Harry could tell. 

“If you want to do anything about your hair, you need to start now,” Hermione said as she struggled with her own hair. Harry, who had not moved from his position on his back on the floor since he had arrived, merely sighed. 

“Your hair looks fine, mate,” said Ron without looking up from his book. It had taken Ron all of five minutes to get ready and he was attempting to get some work done before they had to leave. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Harry and Hermione corrected him together. 

“I don’t want to go,” Harry said for the upteenth time. 

While Hermione was not unsympathetic, she had little patience for people who complained and then did nothing about their situation. “Well, no one’s making you go, Harry. Romilda did work very hard on this event and I’m sure she, and many of the other staff, would appreciate your appearance. But it’s your choice.”

Harry and Ron shared a meaningful look. 

***

The three of them managed to arrive in a somewhat timely manner. Ron and Hermione walked in together, with Harry hanging back slightly. He was dreading the moment when everyone would turn to look at him and he had no one with whom to talk. He should have just had Gawain come with him. No one would have thought anything of it, he was sure. 

His discomfort was short lived however, as Romilda rushed over to greet him. “You came!”

“Of course, I came, Ro,” Harry said, trying to make it sound like Hermione hadn’t physically pried him off the floor not ten minutes ago. 

“I just know how much you hate these things,” she whispered. “I would introduce you to my new boss, but you already know each other! It’s Demelza Robins.” 

Romilda’s smile was contagious, and Harry found himself relaxing in spite of himself. “Is she here yet?”

“Yep, over by the bar. You should go talk to her! I have a few more things to take care of, but then I’ll try to join you.” With a squeeze of his arm and one last “I’m so glad you came!” she hurried off. 

Hermione caught his eyes from across the room. I told you so. 

It was as Harry was talking to Demelza that Hermione spotted him -- her arch nemesis, Terry Boot. 

“You,” she gasped.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Nothing, not you. Excuse me.” She easily steered Ron towards Gawain Robards and then disappeared into the crowd. 

Terry was laughing with some hospital administrators at the far end of the room. Hermione approached swiftly and silently. “Boot, a word.” It was not a question. 

“I’m quite busy, Granger,” he tossed at her before turning back to his previous conversation. 

People did not speak to Hermione Granger in this way. It was time Terry Boot learned a lesson she should have taught him long ago. 

Hermione grabbed Terry by his collar and dragged him out into the hallway. She shoved him hard against the far wall and placed her hand gently over his windpipe. “If I had even a shred of evidence, Boot, you would not be standing here right now.”

“I don’t think admitting you have no evidence is the way you want to blackmail me, Granger.”

“Oh, but I’m not blackmailing you,” Hermione smiled sweetly. “I just need you to understand something: if I so much as sense your presence anywhere near him, I will kill you. And I’ll get away with it.” Terry just gaped. Hermione found that death threats were the most effective when one could speak in specifics, so she kept going. “I’m a very talented witch in my own right, Boot. I know spells even Voldemort would have hesitated to use, but Gryffindors aren’t really the hesitant type. Not to mention I have certain… connections, you understand. Oh, yes, I’ll get away with it. I won’t lose a wink of sleep either, in fact, I’ll probably sleep easier, knowing that you’re dead, so do not test me.” 

Terry tried to speak, but Hermione pressed a little harder on his windpipe to really drive her point home. 

“Granger!” a voice called from down the hall.

Hermione dropped her hand and turned to see Draco Malfoy standing in the hall. Realizing she’d been caught, she sighed and took a step back. Boot took his opening and bolted, running back to the party. 

“What, Malfoy?” Hermione spit out.

“It’s Auror Malfoy, actually, and I happen to be working security for this event.”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether to laugh or plead her case. She decided on the latter. “Ron tells me you’re quite talented, Auror Malfoy.” They stared at each other. Hermione tried to smile at him, but it proved to be too difficult. 

“You’d best rejoin the party, Ms. Granger. People might think you’re… up to something.”

Now Hermione grinned as she hurried past him and back into the main room. Malfoy followed her and looked around for Terry Boot, but he was nowhere to be seen. Boot had always set Malfoy’s teeth on edge. Hopefully Granger had scared him off. 

***

“You’re in a better mood,” Gawain commented as they arrived in his flat. 

“I had a better time than I thought I would,” Harry smiled. 

At the risk of ruining the evening, Gawain asked, “How was seeing Terry?”

“That’s the thing! I didn’t see him,” Harry shrugged. “I know I’ll have to see him eventually… But I can, you know, mentally prepare myself now. It’ll be fine.”

Gawain didn’t look convinced. He stood in the entryway halfway out of his cloak and in the middle of toeing his shoes off, staring into the middle distance. 

Harry smiled fondly. “Seriously, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“How well do you know the staff at St. Mungo’s?”

“Pretty well… I worked there for almost six years. Why?”

Dropping his cloak to the ground and stepping out of his shoes as he went, Gawain walked over to the sofa. He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. “I need you to look at something.”

“Gawain, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing… except… how often does the whole staff get together like that? Admin, not just Healers?”

“Maybe if someone retires? I don’t know. Not often.”

“Damn,” Gawain swore softly. “I wasn’t paying attention. I need you to look at something.”

“Gawain, what is it?”

Gawain went to his desk and pulled out a thick file. “I need to know if you recognize any of these people,” he said, laying out 17 pictures of children who looked to be between the ages of five and seven. Harry had seen Gawain looking at them before, but this was the first time he’d paid attention. 

Harry stared for a few minutes before he said, “You have them in the wrong order.”

“There’s an order?”

“The order in which they were admitted to St. Mungo’s.”

“How do you--”

“About two years ago I picked up the odd shift in peds when Hannah was on maternity leave. I don’t know all of them… but I bet they were all patients there at some point. What happened to them?”

“They died.”

“Oh…” Harry’s face fell. 

“They died in hospital, didn’t you know?”

“No, they… well, they must have been readmitted after Hannah came back. All of these patients were released. I think…”

“You don’t remember?”

“Well, they weren’t my patients.”

“None of them?”

“None of them.” 

“Who works in peds?”

“Justin and Hannah.”

“Did anyone else pick up shifts with you?”

“Yeah, we all did… Gawain, what is this about?”

“This is that thing I can’t say out loud or I sound like a lunatic.”

“Is this also the case Ron and I haven’t discussed since he’s not working it?”

“I should never have involved Weasley.”

“No, no, he really didn’t say anything. Really, it was--”

“I’m sure he was discreet. But if this doesn’t pan out… I don’t want him to get into too much trouble. Or die. Doesn’t he have like, three kids?”

“He doesn’t have any children.”

“Oh? I could have sworn.”

“You lack of observation skills is deeply worrying for someone of your profession.”

“I only take note of the things that are necessary.”

“And how are you to know what’s necessary and what isn’t? What is your process for determining what is necessary if you make no unnecessary observations?”

“Well, I mean, I notice everything and then I get rid of the unnecessary information so I can notice more things.”

“That’s not how brains work.”

“What I’m trying to say is: please don’t admit me to St. Mungo’s after you hear this.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Gawain sighed, and then stood and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “So in the span of about six months, these 17 kids all died at St. Mungo’s. And -- what?” Gawain asked a bit crossly as he saw Harry roll his eyes.

“People die all the time in hospital, Gawain. Generally speaking people only go there if they’re, you know, very sick or hurt.”

“I know. I know. But this… you were surprised all those children had died, yeah?” 

“Honestly, not really. Kids often respond so well to treatment initially. They can bounce back from a lot, especially the ones who are otherwise healthy… and sometimes they seem to be feeling better and they just aren’t really getting better. And they’re so… small. When something is really wrong it can get bad fast.”

“But these ones… these ones had come back for routine follow-up. And then they were admitted. And then they died. And they fit a coherent victim profile. There was supposedly a bad batch of children’s sleeping draught going around --”

“-- I heard that, too--”

“--But no charges were ever filed. They never opened a case.”

“No one ever told us to stop giving it to patients, either… Gawain, you’re an Auror. This sounds like a malpractice suit.”

“I don’t think it was an accident that these kids died. And I don’t think it had anything to do with normally prescribed potions.”

“So you think someone on staff was killing patients? And none of the rest of us noticed? Don’t be ridiculous, Gawain.”

“No, but listen. Pediatrics was short staffed. Healers and medis were in and out of there all the time. No one was fully monitoring the department --”

“Of course someone was monitoring the department! Thomson personally oversaw it. Gawain, I’m telling you, there’s no way that he--”

“The Head Healer stepped in and ran the department?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said. And Thomson is --”

“Is that usual?”

“What?”

“Is that procedure? When you ran Emergencies, if you were gone, did Thomson run the department?”

“Of course not. But this was a special circumstance.” Harry could feel himself getting defensive, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Gawain stared at Harry as though he would be able to bore through his skull and literally read his thoughts. “Stop it,” Harry said, and it came out a bit more petulantly than he had meant it. 

“The pattern continued for six months before it abruptly ended. For a little over a year there were no deaths at St. Mungo’s that fit with the others. I thought maybe I’d… been mistaken. But the past two weeks alone there have been five deaths in the pediatric ward at St. Mungo’s and four of them fit the pattern.” 

“And what do you think made Thomson start killing again?” Harry asked a bit harshly.

“I don’t… That’s not what I think.”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s a reason Pierce never wanted this file opened.”

“So to be clear, what you’re say is that the Head of the DMLE and the Head Healer are conspiring together to kill children.”

“Erm, yes.”

“And do you know why they would do this?”

“Well, no, but it’s… yeah. I don’t know. You think it’s absurd, don’t you?”

“I think you’re missing pieces.”

“A lot of pieces?”

“Yeah, a lot of pieces.”

“Fuck.”

***

Harry and Gawain had stayed up most of the night mapping out the nonexistent case. With his head all but buried in his third cup of coffee, Harry nearly walked right into Hermione as he exited the lift for the DMLE. 

“You look… like you need breakfast,” Hermione said with a wise nod. 

When Harry had stopped talking after the War, he and Hermione had taken all of their breakfasts together. Hermione would make a stack of toast for them to share as they walked around the Lake, away from all the noise in the Great Hall. As they had become busy with their own careers, breakfast remained a way for them to spend time together when they needed each other’s support. 

Harry simply nodded and let Hermione herd him back into the lift. 

“But that’s… I mean, he can’t be right, can he?” Harry asked Hermione. They had settled in on the couch in her office while Harry recounted his evening. 

“You should dump him.”

“I-- what? Where did that come from?”

“I’ve been sitting on this information for some time now.”

“Oh, come on, Mi--”

“Hear me out… You stayed up all night with him to work out some idiot theory--”

“I was just trying to be--”

“What? Supportive? Harry, no. That’s not what this is. You do this every time.”

“Do what?”

“This is a pattern with you. Date Terry Boot? Study 24/7, miss weekly dinners with the Weasleys, all but drop off the face of the earth, and then graduate top of your class. Date Gawain Robards? Quit the job you worked so hard for at the hospital and become an Auror.”

“Well, I’m not an Auror.”

“Harry, you are essentially an Auror.”

“Yeah, but--”

“But what?”

“... I actually have nothing to say in my own defense.”

“Precisely.” 

“So I, I dunno, try to match my personality to the person I’m with that’s… well, I mean, that’s certainly not Gawain’s fault or anything.”

“Perhaps not. But he’s certainly not part of the solution.”

“You never said what you thought about his theory.”

“Bullshit, obviously,” Hermione muttered, shifting her eyes to where her hand was plucking at the stitching on the back of the sofa.


	5. Chapter 5

Not that Harry cared to, but he’d been thinking a lot about the last few months of his relationship with Terry. And the first few months he’d been gone. 

***

Hermione and Ron’s Christmas party was the place to be on December 22nd. Or at least, that’s what Ron had been telling people. 

Harry was on call, which made it hard to enjoy anything. He was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, sulking. Hermione had come to pester him a few times before just giving up. Terry had left for France three weeks ago, and she was willing to cut him some slack. At least he had come out. 

He was debating whether or not anyone would notice if he just left when Gawain Robards came into the kitchen. 

“How’s your ankle?” Harry smirked, a little unkindly. 

Luckily, Gawain was a bit of an idiot and he just grinned. “Excellent, thank you.”

“Great. Now go back to the party.”

Gawain continued to grin and hopped up onto the counter opposite Harry. “What are you doing in here?”

“Wallowing in self-pity.”

“What?”

“I’m on call. It puts me in a very bad mood.”

“Have a drink with me.”

“What part about I’m on fucking call do you not understand?”

“Doesn’t have to be alcohol.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Okay, okay, how about we play a game, and if I win you have a drink with me.”

“And if I win you fuck off?”

“Sure.”

“What kind of game?”

“You have to answer five questions incorrectly in a row. Do you think you can do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s practice. If I asked you what color my pants are, you’d say…?”

“Yellow.”

“Which is incorrect, so there you go. Do you think you can answer five questions wrong in a row?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“Where are we right now?”

“Hogwarts.”

“How many days until Christmas?”

“35.”

“What’s my middle name?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

Gawain chuckled. “Okay, I’ll take it. Ermm… how many questions I have asked you?”

“Three.”

Gawain just stared at Harry, his smile spreading into a full-out grin across his face. And Harry realized what he’d done.

“Damnit!” Harry exclaimed, and he couldn’t help but mirror Gawain’s grin. 

“You don’t really have to have a drink with me, but thanks for playing,” Gawain smiled softly and jumped off the counter. 

“Wait, uh…” Harry started, but he wasn’t sure what he was really asking. 

“Yeah?”

“Come back.”

Gawain crossed the kitchen so he could stand between Harry’s legs. There had always been a slightly calculated edge to Terry’s smile, but Gawain’s face was open as he gently ran his hands up Harry’s thighs. It made Harry want to forget all the years he had come to this party with Terry. 

Harry knew this was an extremely poor choice, but it had been a long time since anything had felt good like this. So when Gawain leaned forward Harry met him halfway, sliding their lips together. Gawain smiled against Harry’s lips and let his hands trail up Harry’s sides. When Gawain’s left hand reached his ribcage, Harry couldn’t help but wince and whimper in pain. Gawain immediately dropped his hands and let them fall to his own sides. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… bruised my ribs a couple weeks ago. It’s healing well, but still pretty sore.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Patient was delirious with fever. I had to move him to a cold water bath and he kicked me in the ribs. I just wasn’t fast enough. It happens.”

“It happens that a patient that sick would be so strong?”

“Well, I mean--”

“How’d it really happen?”

“God, I fucking hate Aurors,” Harry muttered and tried to get down off the counter, but Gawain had him pinned.

“Okay, okay,” Gawain said, holding his hands up and moving back just enough to let Harry get his feet on the ground. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re fucking right I don’t.”

“Is it going to happen again?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, and I’m leaving,” Harry made sure to press his entire body up against Gawain’s in order to walk him backwards so he could make his exit. 

“Uh…”

“You should follow me.”

“Yep.”

***

Of course, some memories are more pleasant than others. 

***

Harry was awoken in the morning by a large owl flying full speed into his bedroom window. Undeterred by its sudden change in velocity, the bird continued to attempt to fly through the window. 

“Fucking hell, alright, alright,” Harry called to it as he dragged himself out of bed. Upon entry, the bird screeched loud enough to raise the dead, sunk its talons into Harry’s arm, and offered its leg. It was, of course, Hermione’s owl. 

Harry took the letter off the impatient bird’s leg. It simply read:

lunch -- my office -- noon xxx HJG

The bird did not wait for a response. Apparently, none was necessary. 

Annoyed, Harry dropped the note onto his bedside table and decided he might as well get ready for work.

*** 

Harry went to St. Mungo’s and put in a request for all of Terry’s Boots patient files. “Yes, every chart he’s ever written,” Harry clarified impatiently for the stunned clerk. 

“But… they’re not here.”

“Where are they?”

“They’ve all been checked out.”

“By whom?”

“Uh, um, well, Hermione Granger.”

“She took them all?”

“Her exact words were: every chart, every note, every piece of paper related to a patient he’s so much as glanced at. And I asked when she needed it by and she just said, ‘Look at my face.’ So I gave it to her right away. Should I not have done that? Only I think she would have killed me and taken the charts anyway.” 

Harry’s scowl cleared. “Thanks for your help.” It looked like lunch with Hermione would be more than just a social call. The clerk looked confused and a little scared as Harry smiled at her and then turned to leave. 

***

“So you figured it out as well, then.”

“Well, hello to you, too, Hermione,” Harry muttered as he took in her office. Hermione’s office was a maze of files. The furniture was no longer visible and Hermione herself was crouched in the center of the mess. 

“Don’t touch anything. I have a system,” she cautioned as Harry started to wade towards her. 

“How did you manage to check out confidential patient files?” Harry asked, eying the stacks warily.

“What could you possibly mean, Harry?”

“Well, you don’t work at the hospital, so--”

“Sh, sh, sh, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know about it. I just asked the clerk for the files and she gave them to me. What was I supposed to think? Shouldn’t she have stopped me?”

“So you’re gonna throw an intern under the bus.”

“She’ll land on her feet.”

“And how am I supposed to explain that I know nothing about this?”

“You were never here. I put you on Ron’s calendar for lunch.”

“So he’s going to lie for us, too?”

“Well, Ron can’t testify against me in court, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh my god, Hermione.”

“How much do you know?” she asked when Harry had settled on an island near where he thought the couch was.

“I’ve seen the timeline of when the kids died… I just wanted to look at Terry’s files and make sure it was a coincidence.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.” 

“I’m not! That’s all I know!”

“Ugh, this is so frustrating. How do we not know more?”

“What do you mean?”

“Between Ron and Gawain you’d think we’d have more information about the investigation.”

“Well, Gawain doesn’t really talk to me about cases I’m not working. Especially cases no one is working.”

“Then what is the point of him?!” Hermione screeched. “Sorry, kind of,” she frowned at the look on Harry’s face. 

“I think you should let me walk the patient files down to the Auror Office.”

“We can’t involve anyone in the DMLE.”

“Hermione, we can’t obstruct an active investigation!”

“We’re not. Technically.”

“I think that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“It’s not technically an investigation… besides, we can work outside of constraints that the Aurors have.”

“You mean like ethics and the law.”

“We’re better equipped to handle this case.”

“And how’s that?”

“There’s a lot of data to sort through… We need to match Auror cases to patient files. Construct a timeline.”

“All the more reason to involve Aurors.”

“They know they can’t open an official investigation, but they’re still attracting attention. I mean, it’s Ron and Gawain. They’re not exactly discreet. The less they know the less danger they’ll be in.”

“We can’t possibly sort through all of this information on our own.”

“Sure we can. You have expertise with hospital and Auror charts and I’m just generally brilliant,” she flashed him a blinding smile. “We have to do this. Quickly, and alone.” 

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, Harry. I need you on this one.”

“You’ve had my back through crazier shit. What are we looking at?”

“We need to match the patient files to the hospital inquiries to the Auror case files for all the dead kids and then start looking through the old Daily Prophets for the few weeks after those cases all closed.”

“So what’s the pattern? A child recovering from illness is a patient of Terry’s. The child dies unexpectedly. The parents ask for an investigation. The hospital opens a file and nothing happens because, well, we get a lot of those. The parents go to the Aurors --”

“But Gawain didn’t mention anything about Auror cases around these deaths, did he?”

“No, which is odd, I guess --”

“The Auror cases were handled directly by Pierce.”

“So, what? Pierce reaches out to the hospital? The family? And opens a case. Then both files close and… the Daily Prophet runs a story that seems to explain it all. Like the bad batch of sleeping draught?”

“Yes, exactly.” 

“But can we prove that any of these events are connected?”

“That’s what we’re looking for in these files. You start with hospital charts. Look through the cases Gawain showed you for evidence that the deaths weren’t accidental.”

“You really think he’d be that careless?”

“With Thompson and Pierce backing him up, maybe.”

“Okay. It’s worth a look, I suppose.” 

“At the end of this I hope the dementors suck out Terry Boot’s soul. If he even has one.”

“Of course he has a soul, Mi. And you know we don’t do that anymore.”

“I’m going to petition for a special exception, seeing as he’s the worst human being ever to walk the face of the earth.”

“I think we’ve personally known several people who’ve done worse things,” Harry said as he lifted the first file from the pile to his left. 

“But at least those people admitted to their awfulness. And those who aren’t dead are serving life sentences in Azkaban. Terry Fucking Boot is walking around a hospital telling people what a good guy he is. I can’t tell if he’s delusional or just that manipulative.”

“He’s that manipulative. I mean, he might also be delusional, but he’s not an idiot. He’s knows what he’s doing.”

“Harry… I’m so sorry. I should never should have invited him to the Christmas party.”

Hermione looked so serious, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Hermione that was five years ago, I think you can forgive yourself.”

“I don’t know that I can, Harry. I can’t believe I missed it.”

“How do you think I feel? I was dating him when he killed all these kids and never suspected anything. This is my fault, Hermione,” Harry muttered, looking away from her big brown eyes and selecting the first file from the pile to his left. He could feel the tingling weight of guilt building in his chest. “I should have seen what he was.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Harry, you can’t,” Hermione pleaded. “It’s like you said, he’s a manipulative bastard.”

***

Hermione didn’t know the half of it. 

No matter how bad it got, Terry was always able to make it seem like the bad outweighed the good. 

He loved Harry. 

“How could you question what I feel for you? You’re so special to me.”

He was a good boyfriend.

“I hope you realize how lucky you are.”

He knew Harry better than he knew himself. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”

He was good for Harry, he was always telling Harry this. Other people were also always telling Harry this. 

“You’re so cute together!”

“He’s so supportive. You’re all he talks about.”

Even Hermione had once commented on how effective Terry must be at getting Harry to do his homework. 

Half the time Harry was convinced that he’d dreamed it. Or just made it all up. Or that he was grossly exaggerating what really happened. 

Dating Gawain -- while convenient mostly because he didn’t ask questions -- had provided a stark contrast in many ways. 

One evening Gawain had come through Harry’s fireplace and scared the shit out of him.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Harry sighed with a smile, dropping his wand.

“Just me?” Gawain grinned, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and press their foreheads together. “Did you forget I was coming over?” he teased gently. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, tensing and curling in on himself.

“Hey, hey, sorry for what?” Gawain soothed.

“I have such a bad memory. I forget things all the time,” Harry muttered, trying to squirm out of Gawain’s arms. Terry used to say what a bad memory Harry had. From being tortured, probably. It wasn’t Harry’s fault, but he had to understand that he was misremembering what Terry had said or done.

“Bullshit. You have a great memory -- you wouldn’t be such a good Healer without one. I actually have a terrible memory. It’s amazing they let me keep my job. You know I have to check you shift schedule every day, even though it’s always the same? Plus I thought it was Friday all day today --”

“Gawain, it’s Tuesday,” Harry smiled in spite of himself. 

“I know that now! Imagine my disappointment. I thought it would have been, you know, at least Thursday. And now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure if I had my regular Friday lunch meeting with Weasley... So it’s entirely possible that you’re right and I wasn’t supposed to come over tonight, but seeing as I’m here now, can I stay?” 

“Yes, you can stay,” Harry said, resting his head on Gawain’s shoulder. 

“It’s because I’m old, I’ve decided. It’s okay because I’m old.”

Harry snorted. “You’re not old.”

“I am, I am. Although, there are advantages to dating older men.” He tried to wink at Harry, but ended up just blinking in an exaggerated fashion. 

Harry laughed and finally relaxed fully. “Did you really think that would work for you?”

“I don’t know… Is it working for me?”

The closest they’d ever come to talking about Terry was at Ron and Hermione’s Christmas party, although Harry sometimes had the feeling Gawain was just waiting for Harry to start the conversation. 

Like the time Ron’s patronus had arrived in Gawain’s office to inform him he and Susan had been too late in reaching a suspect’s house, the suspect had cleared out all his things and was long gone.

“Damnit!” Gawain yelled, smacking his open palm down on this desk. He turned to look at Harry to ask if he could stay late, and saw that Harry was frozen in his chair. 

Harry knew Gawain wasn’t about to hit him. But that didn’t stop his heart from beating too fast in his chest, or his hands from shaking, or the heat he could feel spreading down his shoulders and up his neck. Gawain had definitely seen the flicker of fear across Harry’s face. 

Moving slowly, Gawain put both his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Harry nodded, but couldn’t get words out. Gawain, keeping his hands up, started to stand from his own chair. Harry flinched. 

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna stay over here,” Gawain said, sitting back down. 

They stared at each other for a long time before Malfoy burst in with an update about the case. Gawain gave Harry a look that said they would talk later, but they never did. 

Or Harry’s constant surprise that Gawain wasn’t mad when he went to the Weasley’s every Sunday for dinner instead of spending time with Gawain. 

Or how hard Gawain had to work, in the beginning especially, to get Harry to talk to him in bed. 

But it was easy to brush most things off as side effects of the war, nothing to do with Terry. 

Looking at the maze of files that was Hermione’s office, Harry wondered what would have happened if he’d confided in Ron the first time Terry hit him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long! 
> 
> I will write some one-shots to follow the story... let me know if you have any ideas you want to see :)
> 
> ***

Harry was all too happy to leave Hermione’s office return to the Auror Department. 

“We need to bring Boot in for questioning, but we can’t officially talk to him. There’s no active investigation,” Ron began as soon as Harry had closed the door to the briefing room behind him. 

“And there can’t be,” Gawain added. 

“Oh, I understand. You are asking me to do that which I do not want to do.”

“Yes, I am,” Ron nodded very seriously. 

“I hope you realize just how much I love you,” Harry sighed.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron looked very relieved. 

“So what should I say to him? Hey, Terry, kill anyone lately?”

“For once in your life, Potter, have some tact,” Malfoy grumbled. 

“But yes, we would like you to get him to confess,” Gawain added quickly. 

“Any advice?” Harry asked.

“Well… try to, you know, make it seem, casual, like you just want to see, I don’t know, how he’s doing? Maybe? Or like you don’t really mind. Or you already know! You already know and you’re fine with it --”

“-- Yeah, totally believable --”

“-- and you’re willing to help him. Yeah. Say that.”

“Well, I guess he knows what to not do now. Thanks for that, Robards,” Malfoy scoffed. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Harry asked. 

“Why don’t you --” Malfoy began, but Ron cut him off.

“You know what? Never mind. Let’s not do this. It’s not only a breach of protocol, but honestly a pretty bad idea, and --”

“Again: do you have a better idea?” Harry asked. 

“Not right now! But I could. I just need time to --”

“There’s not time, Ron.” As much as Harry wished there were. 

“I have a better idea,” Malfoy said quietly as he examined the floor with intense interest. 

“Spit it out, Malfoy, we don’t have all day,” Gawain snapped. 

“What if it were something unrelated?” Malfoy looked uncharacteristically nervous. 

“Malfoy, do not plant evidence. That’s the last thing we need,” Ron said. 

“Fuck you, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped. 

“Give him a little credit, Ron. You know he wouldn’t do that,” Harry soothed. 

“I know, I know. It’s just… he brings out the worst in me, you know?” 

“What is it you know, Malfoy?” Gawain asked. 

“It might be nothing,” Malfoy muttered, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. 

“Super helpful, thanks mate.”

“Ron, knock it off,” Harry chided. 

“What about an assault and battery charge?” Malfoy put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor.

“Yeah, that’s good. Go find him and provoke him, see if you can get him to punch you in the face,” Ron agreed eagerly. 

“Ron, just stop talking. I know you’re nervous, but I need you listen,” Harry corrected. 

“I started the report about two years ago, but I never filed it,” Malfoy continued. 

“And when were you planning to share that with the rest of us?” Gawain asked.

“If it ever became necessary.”

“Can you file it in the next five minutes?”

“It depends… I’d like Potter’s permission,” Malfoy muttered this last part so quietly, Ron wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. He was still staring at the floor with a slightly pained expression on his face. 

“Harry… what’s he talking about?” 

With practiced ease, Harry gave Ron his most reassuring smile and said, “I have no idea.”

“Maybe it would be best if Potter and I spoke privately,” Malfoy said, finally looking up to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“Okay,” Harry shrugged. “Could you two give us the room?” 

Once the door had closed behind Gawain and Ron, Malfoy began to speak quickly and quietly. “Don’t say anything. Just listen. There isn’t time to argue about the facts, I just need your answer.”

“Malfoy, Terry never --”

“Yes, he did. For fuck’s sake, Potter, I’m not an idiot. All the years I worked vice, I never saw a case of physical and emotional abuse so clear cut and textbook perfect as your relationship with Terry Boot. I started keeping notes of every time I saw you at work with bruises and a big smile -- which was a lot -- because I thought I was doing you a favor. And then I realized maybe I wasn’t. So I convinced myself that I had imagined it --”

“You did.”

“Only I know I didn’t. And if we don’t say something now, I honestly don’t know what we’ll do. Putting you in a room with him to try and get a confession is idiotic and dangerous. Without this, I don’t think we can arrest him.” 

“To be clear, that’s because you don’t actually have any evidence that he’s done anything illegal.”

“Don’t. Do not defend him to me, Harry, I won’t be able to stand it.”

“I’m not! I just --”

“I understand that what I’m asking you to do is difficult --”

“Do you, though? Do you really understand what you’re asking me to do?”

Harry and Malfoy stared at each other. Harry felt waves of gut-wrenching guilt crashing over him. He dug his nails hard into the palms of his hands. 

“I’m asking you to brave,” Malfoy whispered.

“Fuck you,” Harry spat with as much venom as he could muster. But he could hear his voice shaking. 

“We have to do this.”

“Don’t pretend like there’s a ‘we’ in this, Malfoy.”

“Harry…”

“No one will believe me.”

“I believe you.” Harry had never seen Malfoy look so earnest. It was a little unnerving and it certainly wasn’t convincing. “People will believe you, Harry. You’re a credible person. You --”

“I killed Voldemort. Why couldn’t I stop Terry from pushing me around?”

“It’s not like that,” Malfoy pleaded. 

“Sure it is,” Harry said calmly. “In all honesty, I’m not sure if I even believe it.”

“Look, I know what it’s like to be manipulated by a murderous lunatic into a bad situation that’s really not in your best interest.”

“Oh, come on --”

“I’m not saying it’s the same --”

“How do you even --”

“I mean, Voldemort never told me he loved me or anything, but --”

“What about your father?”

“Actually, he never expressed any affection toward me either, but --”

“You should probably talk to someone about that.”

“Would you stop it? I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, you’re not. I’m not doing it. It’s not like you think it was. It just wasn’t.”

“Potter, going to see him alone is a bad idea.”

“You’ll be listening the whole time. I’ll be fine.”

“My idea is better.”

“You just want to play hero.”

“I think you’re projecting,” Malfoy sneered. 

Harry laughed, feeling some of the tension leave his body. “Whatever, Malfoy. I’ll be fine.”

***

Harry was awakened by the sound of Ron’s snores. Which was odd. He opened his eyes and immediately recognized the ceiling of St. Mungo’s Trauma Unit. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry tried to say, but hardly managed to cough. Ron did not wake. Harry turned his head to look at Ron, who had contorted himself with great skill into one of the hospital chairs. Judging by the amount of drool, he’d been there awhile. He was sporting a black eye and the Head Auror badge. Which was also odd. 

“Ron,” Harry managed to rasp. 

Ron snorted.

“Ron,” Harry tried a little louder.

Ron grunted.

Harry gave up and tried to reach for his call button instead. The pain of moving his arm was sudden and intense, and he finally made a noise loud enough to wake Ron, who immediately stood with a startled gasp. 

“Blimey, mate, you scared me.”

Harry just moaned in pain and tried to curl onto his side.

“Oh, hey, hey, none of that. I don’t think you’re supposed to move. Let me get Romilda.”

“No, get a nurse,” Harry grit out through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, right, yeah, that’s, yeah, makes more sense. Hang on.” Ron started to leave the room and then turned around. “Only I feel like I shouldn’t leave you --”

“Just go,” Harry grunted.

***

The next time Harry woke up Hermione had taken Ron’s chair. She was, of course, sitting upright and not drooling at all. Before Harry could muster enough air to speak, Hermione had already launched in full speed.

“I know you’re in pain, Harry, but I need you to focus. A lot has happened in the past six hours and I’m making some changes. I need you to sign these forms.”

She held out what looked like a hospital chart to Harry. It was oddly hard to read, even considering he didn’t have his glasses. 

“Hermione, what --”

“Don’t try to read it, I’ll just tell you. You’re going to be Head Healer now. So I need you to sign the first one to release some of your patient files to Demelza, sign the second to quit your contract at the Ministry, and the third one is your new contract.”

Harry just stared at her.

“Do you not see where to sign?”

“Hermione, I have basically no leadership skills.”

“Now, Harry, that’s not --”

“When I got in the shower this morning, I was still wearing my socks. I can’t run a hospital.”

“Well, in all honesty, Harry…” She trailed off, seeming to think her words over carefully. “While you may lack any kind of administrative abilities, Romilda will be there to help you. And the problem with the last Head Healer was an egregious ethical offense, and I doubt anything like that will be a problem with you, so I feel confident in my choice.”

“Your choice?”

“Yes. You see, I’m the Minister of Magic now.”

Harry let go of the forms and closed his eyes. Pain potions had never worked well in his system, but he had never had a hallucination before, much less one so vivid. For it to be auditory and sensory meant that --

“And Gawain’s Head of the DMLE, and Ron’s Head Auror, and since Gawain took Susie with him, Malfoy’s Deputy Head Auror now. Odd, you know, Ron said the first thing Malfoy did once he was promoted was to punch Ron in the face…”

That last part did sound real. And Hermione would be a good Minister -- or should it be Ministress? Was that a word? Harry didn’t know. It was hard to think. And also hard to breathe. 

“And also… Harry… they arrested Terry Boot. He did, unfortunately, survive the arrest. Ron and Malfoy are booking him now. The trial should be quick… he confessed to a lot more than we had once Gawain brought him in.”

“Did you figure it out?”

“What? Oh, the connections and all the… no. We were, erm, not as close as we thought we were, actually.”

The fact that Hermione didn’t have a neat explanation for him made it seem both more and less likely that it was all a dream. Maybe he should try to read the forms again. He’d read somewhere that you couldn’t read in dreams. But that seemed wrong now, and Harry wondered if he even knew how to read. But then Hermione took the forms off the end of his bed and held them to her chest.

“We can do the forms later. I just thought… I thought it would be for the best to get it over with, but Harry…”

“What?” Had she realized he didn’t know how to read?

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know… Did I fight with Malfoy about something?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, then that. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Okay, well --”

“But I’ve obviously suffered some kind of injury -- not to my head -- so I’m sure the memories will return shortly.” 

“Okay, well --”

“Hand me my chart, actually.”

“Okay, well --” 

“I just want to see what kind of pain potion they have me on, because very little is making sense to me right now.”

“Gawain was brilliant, and I just think you should know,” Hermione said as she handed over Harry’s chart.

“Hmm?” Harry muttered, trying to listen to Hermione and read at the same time was proving to be too difficult. 

“He really loves you.”

“I know,” Harry smiled softly.

“Get some more rest,” Hermione insisted, pulling Harry’s chart away from him. “I’ll go get Gawain.”

***

Harry did remember now. Just as he had thought, the less pain medication they gave him, and more he recovered from his injuries, the more he remembered. 

He had gone to Terry’s home. Terry had been packing. Harry had demanded to know what was going on. He didn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but he’d started in on Terry about owing him an explanation. Terry explained that he was going back to France, that he’d returned to England to do Healer Thompson a favor, but now he needed to go. Harry, desperate to keep the conversation going, had asked to accompany Terry. 

Terry had launched into a long winded and not well structured speech. He’d never meant to hurt Harry, he loved him… Why did Harry want to come now and not before… Terry had done things Harry wouldn’t be proud of… But Terry had never meant to hurt Harry, in fact, he’d always been good to Harry, he loved him. The argument seemed to run on loop and with increased emotions, until Harry tried to calm him down. 

Which was when Terry told him to leave. And Harry said no.

Harry had been determined that he could protect himself this time, that he wouldn’t have a problem defending himself, of possibly hurting Terry if he needed to. But in the end it felt the same as it always had. 

Terry said he didn’t want Harry to come, he’d be useless. 

Harry just said, “I know, I know.”

And Harry did feel useless. He’d raised his arms, not to defend himself, but to reach out for Terry, when Terry had put his wand between Harry’s right third and fourth ribs and sliced across. 

He did remember now. He remembered a lot of blood and Malfoy telling him to stop trying to talk. He remembered Gawain yelling something at Ron, but he must have passed out. 

***

When Harry awoke for a third time Gawain was there. It was surely after work hours, but he was still wearing DMLE robes. He had fallen asleep in the chair Ron and Hermione had occupied, but with his face on the bed by Harry’s knees. One of his hands curled lightly around Harry’s and the other dangled to the floor. The angle of his neck looked even more uncomfortable than the position Ron had assumed, and Harry huffed in amused affection. 

The change in Harry’s breathing pattern woke Gawain immediately and so violently that he slid out of the chair and onto the floor. Gawain blinked owlishly up at Harry, “Hi,” he croaked, his voice uneven from sleep and disuse. 

“Hi,” Harry rasped back. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked so comfortable.”

“Actually, I think I pulled a muscle in my neck.”

“Come ‘ere. Let me see,” Harry moved over on the small hospital bed to make room for Gawain, who very gingerly came to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Harry reached his left hand up and around the back of Gawain’s neck, pulling him down so that Gawain’s head rested on Harry’s shoulder. Gawain tried to nuzzle into Harry’s neck, but stopped abruptly. “Merlin, I think my neck is broken.”

“Mmhmm,” Harry hummed noncommittally as he started kneading Gawain’s neck at the base of his skull. 

Gawain gently reached over and moved Harry’s hospital gown open to examine the scar on his chest. “Doesn’t look so bad now,” he murmured.

Harry looked down at his injury for the first time as well. “Demelza did a good job. It’s still a little sore, but it hardly hurts anymore.” 

“I think Malfoy has a crush on you.”

Harry started to laugh, but then stopped with a moan. “You can’t make me laugh right now, Gawain, Merlin.”

“I’m being serious!”

“I know he cares about me. And I think he did have a crush on me at school… but he doesn’t anymore. He just has this… residual awkwardness around me.”

“He punched Weasley in the face.”

“That might have been a long time coming, though.”

“They better work well together. I did not carry that department through a war for Malfoy and Weasley to burn it to the ground.”

“If you could handle reporting to Yaxley I’m sure Malfoy can handle reporting to Ron.”

“Yeah.”

They were dangerously close to talking about things they had never talked about before, and having run out of distractions, they both fell silent. Gawain twisted himself around on the bed so he could stretch his legs out and gently pulled Harry into his arms. Harry grimaced at the movement, but then relaxed again. 

“Do you think they’ll discharge you in the morning?”

“Yeah… Come home with me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I -- Harry…”

“What?”

“I just can’t believe that out of the two of us, I’m going to be the one to say this.”

“Say what?”

“Honestly, you’re more mature than I am, especially emotionally, and --”

“Gawain, what?”

“I -- look, uh… I love you, okay? And don’t say anything, just -- I love you. And I know that, I mean, I can see why you wouldn’t want to open up and all that but -- we have to. We both do. I can start, if you like. I’m not an idiot, and I knew your relationship with Boot must have been less than ideal, but I never thought… and that’s my own bias. I love you, Harry, and I can’t imagine that someone wouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, then.”

***

“Romilda!” Harry yelled from inside his office. “I can’t find my binder on the preventative care program!”

“I have it! Sorry,” Romilda said as she opened the door. 

“No, it’s fine, I just can’t find anything in this damn office.”

“We need to come in tomorrow and just sort through all of Thompson’s things and get it over with.”

“But, Romilda, tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Yes, Harry, tomorrow is Saturday. Which means we’ll have plenty of time to clean uninterrupted.”

“Damn.”

“And we have to go now.”

“Damn.”

“Hermione’s waiting for us.”

“Fuck.”

“Well --”

“Did you grab --”

“Yes.”

“And did you get --”

“Yes.”

“And did we --”

“Yes! Shut up.”

“I need --”

“No. We’re going.”

“Romilda… Do you ever feel like you just don’t know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I do, however, sometimes feel like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh.”

“You need to get it together. You’re a brilliant Healer, Harry. You can do this.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

***

“Booking Terry Boot may have been the most satisfying moment of my professional career.”

“And why’s that?” Harry asked as he carefully applied more Bruising Balm around Ron’s eye.

“Because I was right! Not you, not Gawain, not Malfoy, not even Hermione. Me. I was right.”

“Good for you, Ron,” Harry smiled.

“Did Robards ever tell you how he got that confession, though? It was wicked. Robards just walked into the room where Susie and I were talking to him and was like, ‘Boot, you can either be useful, or you can be dead.’ And Terry was like, ‘Haha no you wouldn’t kill me.’ And Robards was like, ‘No, I totally would and I hope Weasley and Bones turn me in ‘cause I want credit for my kill.’ And Terry was like, ‘Oh, shit.’ I think there was something in Robards eyes, you know? He was serious.”

Harry just chuckled.

“What? No, it was a super serious moment. The tension was thick.”

“Gawain would never say ‘totally.’”

“I mean, that wasn’t word for word, but you know… Lestrange really came through for you, though.”

“She owes me.”

“Yeah… Malfoy and I took Terry to Azkaban and she looked up from where she was filing her nails into points and just said, ‘Heard you did kids… Even I would never do that.’ I thought Terry was going to shit himself.”

“Yeah, except we were kids, Ron.”

“Oh, right. I think she doesn’t count us.”

“Come back tomorrow if it’s still not better. Malfoy really got you, didn’t he?” Harry asked as he examined Ron’s eye for a final time.

“I did not see it coming, that’s for sure,” Ron paused and then continued, “But you know, he was right.”

“He shouldn’t have hit you, Ron.”

“And I should never have sent you out there. I didn’t have enough information, and Malfoy did, and I didn’t listen to him. And all these years that I’ve followed protocol to the letter trying to… And the one time, I… I’m sorry, mate.”

“Ron --”

“Actually, I owe you a real apology. Please, be seated.”

Harry moved back to sit in the chair beside the examination table. In the past six years, he had regretted making Ron give real apologies many times, but never with such intensity.

“Harry. I never should have intentionally put you in harm’s way --” 

“You know me, Ron. I wanted to go, and I would have found a way.”

“No, that’s -- I’m an Auror, Harry. Fuck it, I’m the Head Auror. And what I’m really sorry for is this: I didn’t notice. I should have noticed, not fucking Malfoy. And you should have -- rather, I should have been someone you could tell. And I’m sorry I wasn’t. I just assume you can take care of yourself --”

“Hey!”

“And you can, of course you can. But, Harry…”

“I know.”

“This is different.”

“I really do know, Ron. I see abuse victims all the time at the hospital.” And feeling the words leave his own mouth was nauseating and surreal. 

“So, in the future, I will try to listen more and be a better friend, which is what I feel like I’m always saying when I apologize, actually, and --”

“Ron, I accept.”

“Okay, yeah, good, then. And I think Robards is waiting for you, so I should go.”

“Oh, it’s okay, it’s --”

“You know that I’ve known for a long time about the two of you, yeah? I’m not that bad of an Auror. And I know why you couldn’t tell me, but yeah. I know. I should go,” Ron tried to wink out of his swollen eye, sneezed, and slipped off the exam table all in one motion. 

“Try not to hurt yourself just walking around, alright?” Harry cautioned as he reached out to steady Ron.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, I got it.”

***

“Are you okay?” Gawain asked as they left the hospital together. 

“No… but I think I will be,” Harry replied. “I honestly do.”


End file.
